


Sight Unseen

by Gwaelinn



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Complete, Elves, F/M, Gen, Romance, The Valar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwaelinn/pseuds/Gwaelinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*COMPLETE* Námo is the most feared and most misunderstood Vala.  As a result, he is very much a lone in his dark world.  Can the Doomsman of the Valar find true love?  Or is he distained to remain alone for all eternity?  Only time will tell, and in this venture there is little enough of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Life Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s notes: *In my little corner of Arda, peredhel grow and mature at the rate of the mother’s race, until they reach maturity (18 for humans/50 for elves). Then they slow down until they choose their race.  
> *Also, the Valar are not married to each other.  
> Beta: Aglarien1& Curiouswombat

 

He was keenly aware of the growing pool of blood.  Life’s precious nectar seeped from a slash on his thigh, a gash on his head, the arrow wound in his shoulder and a gaping hole in his abdomen.  Being rather certain that his physical body would soon be dead, Námo wondered if this is how it felt for all Ilúvatar’s creatures.  He let out a strangled moan as intense pain surged through the broken body.  He could just give up, leave his mortally wounded body, and return to his hall as if nothing happened.  However, that also meant that he would give up on his desire to have a mate.  Although he knew once his body died that dream would end anyway, he wished to hold on as long as possible.  He saw the other Valar and first-born with their soul mates and he envied them.  No one wanted the Vala of Death, Doomsman of the Valar.  No one wanted to join him in his cavernous realm, tending to the souls in his care.  Tears fell unbidden into the mud as the world began to fade away.  Soon the beautiful Vala would loose his rhaw [body] forever, and hope of finding a companion with whom to share physical love and more would be gone.  
  
****  
  
Námo slowly became aware of his surroundings.  He heard the strumming of a harp and a voice softly humming.  ‘Odd,’ he thought, ‘there is no music in my halls.’  He struggled to open his eyes.  Then it registered: if his body had died, he would not need to open his eyes; he would not feel the cool sheets under him or smell the fresh air.  Somehow, his body had survived.  He felt a small well of hope begin to bubble inside.  Again, he willed his eyes to open and this time they obeyed.  Unfortunately, crushing pain also assailed him as the rest of his body awoke.  He groaned and his eyes closed again.  As the wave of pain subsided, Námo noted that the harp stopped.  He opened his eyes yet again as he felt a presence approach.   
  
A young woman sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.  She clumsily reached for a rag in a basin of water.  She squeezed out the excess water, and after locating his head with her other hand, she began to cool his brow.  The Vala watched her intently but she continued to look ahead, ignoring him.  She made no indication that she saw he was awake.  Námo attempted to speak but his throat was raw and his lips dry.  
  
“Water,” he said in no more than a whisper.  
  
The woman startled.  She placed the cloth back in the bowl, strangely without looking.  “I will fetch the healer,” she said hastily.  She stood and with hesitant steps made her way to the door.  
  
The injured Vala watched her leave.  He did not understand why she did not simply help him to the glass on the bedside table.  His musings were interrupted when an ellon entered.  Though young in face, Námo knew this elf was millennia old.  The woman shuffled in behind.  
  
“Ah, you are correct, Súrelindë.  Our patient is awake.  Mae govannen, my lord.  How do you fare?”  The healer approached the bed, picking up the water as he sat.  
  
“Thirsty,” Námo rasped.  
  
“Certainly.  Let me help.  Relax and let me do the work.”  The elf carefully lifted his patient’s head just enough for him to swallow the water.  The healer encouraged a couple of more sips before resting Námo’s head back on the pillow.  “Good, now let me check your wounds again.  You were quite a mess.  How you did not pass into Mandos’ care is still a mystery.”  
  
Námo bristled at being referred to as ‘Mandos’.  He had a name, why could people not use it.  That always bothered him.  Irmo and he were the only ones called by their realm’s name instead of their given name.  He always felt it made him an object, not a living caring being.  The healer now addressed the woman.

“Súrelindë, please bring me the roll of bandages.  They are on the second shelf next to the two big jars.  I also need the tin of ointment.  It is on the bottom shelf, about a body length from the left edge.”  Námo wondered at the detailed directions as both items were in plain view.  Perhaps the woman was…how did the mortals put it…slow?  
  
Súrelindë walked with measured steps to the shelves.  Keeping her head and eyes level, she reached out and touched the self.  Fingers ghosted around until they touched a glass jar.  Sidestepping a bit, she moved her hand over the shelf until she felt the bandages.  She grabbed them.  Next, she reached out with her left arm, her hand reaching the side of the shelf.  Stepping to her left, she reached in front of her and found the tin of ointment.  The whole process took but a few moments.  
  
“She has come a long way since the accident,” the healer said in a voice only an elf could hear, when he noticed Námo watching the girl.  Questioning eyes met the healer’s compassion-filled ones.  “Lost her sight in a storm; struck by lightning.”  Súrelindë returned with the necessary items, handed them to the healer and stepped back, waiting.  “Hannon le.  You are free to go now.  Would you like me to have someone return your harp to your rooms?”  
  
“No, thank you,” the young woman replied.  “I can manage.”  She walked with the same measured steps to the window seat, and reached down to collect her harp.   
  
“It is leaning on the wall to your right.”  
  
“Hannon le,” she said with a blush.  
  
Námo watched as she moved from the room.  Her walk was measured but graceful, her fingers barely brushing the wall.  A sudden burning sensation brought his attention back to the healer.  
  
“Forgive me.  The arrow was poisoned.  This balm pulls the poison out, but it is quite uncomfortable.  I will check the stitches now and then you need to rest.  When next you wake we will see about some food.”  The healer finished his ministrations and left his drowsy patient.  
  
Námo struggled to figure out how he had gotten from the forest road to here, and where here exactly is.  It made his head hurt as the answers just plain eluded him.  He drifted into a dreamless sleep, a healing sleep as elves do.  
  
****  
  
When Námo next awoke, he found eyes the color of the angry sea staring at him intently.  The eyes were set in a face framed by long silver hair and a neatly trimmed beard.  The shipwright gave a lopsided grin.  
  
“Mae govannen, Hîr nin,” he said with a nod of his head.  
  
“I am no lord,” the injured elf began.   
  
Círdan raised his hand to stop the protest.  “I am too old for such games.  I have lived long and seen many wondrous things, including the Host of the Valar who drove Morgoth from these lands.  And I never forget a face!” he added with a cheeky grin.   
  
Námo nodded in acquiescence.  He quickly looked around, not wanting to be overheard.  “I would prefer if my identity remain our little secret,” he said in a hushed voice.  
  
“Be at peace, Hîr nin.  None will learn of it from me.  I do wonder, however, why you are here and in such a state.”  
  
“I came on a personal matter and as such am forbidden to use my…gifts.  I fear my physical form is not as strong as Tulkus’ or Orome’s and I greatly underestimated the dangers I might encounter.  Tell me, I was certain my body would die.  How did I survive?”  
  
“I had a dream several nights ago.  I saw the forest road about a day’s ride from here.  There were bandits lying in wait.  I then saw a lone elf riding towards them.  I tried to warn him but I could not.  Next, I saw the same elf lying near death.  I awoke in such fear and with a compelling urge to save the elf.  I knew the dream was a premonition.  I dressed quickly, took several warriors with me and rode off.  I am pleased to say not only were we able to reach you in time, but my scouts tracked the thieves and convinced them to return what they took.”  He finished with a wink.  “I am keeping your things until you are able to move to more private quarters.  We would not want anyone to figure out to whom a gleaming, black-bladed sword belongs.”  
  
“I am greatly in your debt, Shipwright.  I will not forget your kindness.”  
  
“I am glad I got to you in time.  It would be a shame for so beautiful a body to die.”  Námo felt himself blush and Círdan laughed.  “You mentioned being here for a purpose that does not concern Eru.  I do not mean to pry, but will you share with me what brings you from your halls?”  
  
Námo began to answer when a knock on the door stayed his reply.  Círdan called out for the person to enter.  The healer smiled as he approached the bed.  “It is good to see you so awake, my lord.  How do you fare?”  Círdan got up from his chair and moved to the window seat to allow the healer room.  
  
“I am much better.  The pain is no more than a dull ache,” Námo answered.  “I am most grateful for your excellent care.”  
   
 "I am only doing what Eru put me upon this earth to do.  Your wounds are healing remarkable fast.  You are most fortunate.  You still need to rest, but I think in a couple of days you could be moved to guest quarters.”  
  
“How long have I been here?”  The Vala asked.  
  
“A week’s time.  Like I said, you have a remarkable healing ability.”  The healer went on chatting as he removed the old bandages and re-dressed the wounds.  Círdan, however, did not miss the flash of sadness and something else in the onyx eyes.  He was extremely perceptive, and if Námo left his realm and those in his care on a personal matter, it had to be something very important.  The ancient elf planned to help in any way he could.  
  
When the healer left, promising to send food, Círdan moved back to the chair by the bed.  He said nothing, but waited expectantly for the Doomsman to continue.  When Námo did not begin, Círdan noted the tired look in the other’s eyes.  “I will let you rest before your meal comes.  We will speak again later.  When you feel up to it, just ring the bell on the nightstand and send someone for me.”  The elf stood gracefully and headed to the door.  
  
“Wait,” Námo called out.  “The girl who sat with me, the blind woman,” Círdan turned back.  “She played the harp so beautifully.  Would she be willing to play for me again?  I found it most soothing.”  Námo could not explain why the woman’s music comforted him, but he noticed it missing when he awoke.  
  
Círdan looked at the recovering Vala.  He found it hard to believe that this wounded, uncertain, troubled creature was the same being that smote evil creatures with deadly precision.  “Her name is Súrelindë.  I will ask her to come by and play for you a bit later.  Rest now; your body demands it in order to heal.”  
  
****  
  



	2. Súrelindë

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Súrelindë, in rough Quenya translation, means 'Windsong'.  
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Círdan spoke the truth. Námo could not keep himself awake. As he drifted to sleep, dreams began to weave their magic. He lay in a field, looking at the passing clouds; someone lay next to him. He could not see her face, but she smelled of lemongrass. He rolled to his side, leaning close to her; he kissed her sweetly. His body hummed as she opened her mouth to him. Her slender arms pulled him closer as the innocent kiss deepened. Their bodies pressed together, fitting perfectly. Námo felt his loins stir as soft music flooded his ears…

The Vala woke with a start and a gasp. As he lay panting he realized that the music was not from his dream, yet it had stopped. He glanced to the window seat.

“Forgive me, Hîr nin,” the woman said when her charge woke abruptly. “I did not mean to disturb you. Círdan said you enjoyed my playing. I though it might bring you peaceful dreams. I will stop if you wish.” She bent her head sheepishly. 

“No, please, you play wonderfully. Your playing did not disturb me. I…dream…I mean my dreams…” the great Vala found himself babbling.

Súrelindë blushed at the compliment. “Thank you. The minstrels have been kind enough to teach me.” She paused before continuing quietly. “It is understandable that dreams would haunt you. You suffered quite an ordeal. I hoped my music might calm you.”

“It does, Mistress. Would you continue to play?” By way of response, Súrelindë began to pluck the strings gently. “Hmmm.” The Vala closed his eyes and let the music flow through him. How long he lay there, just lost in the song, he did not know, but when a knock disturbed his peace, he found himself a bit cross. “Yes?” he called. The door opened to admit an elleth carrying a tray of thick soup and soft bread.

“I have your supper, my lord,” she said sweetly. “I will assist you as the youngling is of little use in this matter.” The elleth looked at Súrelindë . “You may go,” she said curtly to Súrelindë, “I will assist him until Lord Círdan returns.”

“Of course, my lady,” Súrelindë said with a hint of disappointment. She liked playing for the stranger. He appreciated her music and he did not seem bothered by her ‘condition’. Súrelindë knew that her sightless stare made most elves uncomfortable. Círdan assured her that her eyes retained their expressive beauty but she found that difficult to believe. Regardless, the she-elf was a lady of the court and therefore had authority over a simple gypsy minstrel. Súrelindë moved to leave when Námo spoke up.

“I thank you for your offer, but the minstrel is here to play at my request. I wish her to stay.” When the elleth made to protest he quickly added, “I am also well enough to feed myself, thank you.”

The elleth eyed the woman on the window seat with barely concealed disdain, understanding and not liking the dismissal. She had hoped to make the acquaintance of the striking mystery ellon before any other elleth could. She had heard the healers whisper of his exotic beauty and she very much want to make his acquaintance. Now she would have to wait because of the little half-breed. Why Círdan let that gypsy elf drop his mistake on the Haven she did not know. However, there was little to do now, but appear gracious and be patient. “If you are certain, Hîr nin.” she said in a sweet tone, setting the tray on the bedside table, within his reach.

“I am quite certain. Hannon le, again.” Námo thought to sit up, but waited for her to leave. It would be painful to lean on his arm and he did not think he could hide the grimace. If she thought him incapable she would never let him be. He could see through the shallow elleth and he wanted her gone. Her beauty was only skin deep. He hoped not all the ellyth in Círdan’s realm were so superficial. With a curtsy and one last look toward the window, she left in a rustle of silk. Námo lay there for a moment before attempting to sit up. He could not suppress the groan as he tried to put weight on his injured shoulder.

“You should have let her stay, Hîr nin. You need help; let me call her back.” Súrelindë stood and moved toward the door. In her haste to catch the elleth, she bumped into a chair. Frustrated she pushed it to the side.

“Wait, saes,” Námo called to her. “I just need a bit of assistance and I am certain you can help me.”

“I am blind, if you have not noticed. There is little I can do for you,” Súrelindë ground out in her embarrassment.

“Yes, I know of your limitations, and it hardly makes you useless. I need help moving into a sitting position so I can eat. Please, I only need to lean on you a bit. I really would rather that elleth not return. If you must fetch help, then get the healer.”

Súrelindë paused and turned in the direction of the bed. Slowly she moved, a bit uncertain of where she was in the room. She reached her hands before her, shuffling her feet, hoping there were no low obstacles.

“The floor is clear but there is a chair near the bedside,” the Vala offered. Súrelindë smiled a tentative smile and crossed the floor. Her hand caught the back of the chair. She moved around it and bumped into the bed.

“Sorry,” she said.

“No need to be,” Námo replied softly. “It might be best if you sit on the bed.” Súrelindë complied. She feared causing the elf more pain since she could not see where his injuries were. “Good. Now my right shoulder is wounded and I cannot put weight on that arm.” With coaching from the Vala, Súrelindë was able to help him maneuver into an upright position, pillows behind his back for support. As she rose, Námo reached out and caught her arm. “Would you sit by the bed while you play?”

“If that is your wish.” Súrelindë hoped her voice did not quiver as her body suddenly did. The ellon’s touch was cool on her skin yet warmth flowed through her. She could feel herself flush and quickly turned her head. She rose and moved toward the window, silently counting steps. She retrieved her harp then returned to the chair by the bed. Without comment, she began to play. Námo reached for the soup, happily eating his first meal in days. When the bowl was empty and his physical body full of nutrients, the raven haired Vala relaxed against the pillows, listening to the music. He closed his eyes again and let the sound wash over and through him. This half-elf had a gift when it came to music. Námo truly believed Súrelindë’s music would calm a savage beast.

Círdan stood silently at the door. Súrelindë plucked her harp, her face a reflection of the song's mood; the Vala rested, eyes closed in peaceful contemplation. The shipwright cleared his throat.

“Good evening, Lord Círdan,” Súrelindë greeted him, her hands never stilling.

“Good evening, penneth,” the ancient mariner replied. 

Námo opened his eyes slowly, eyeing his visitor. 

“I see you had some rest and supper. Perhaps you are ready to continue our earlier conversation?”

“Aye, I suppose I owe you an explanation.” 

Súrelindë understood that the elf-lord and the stranger had matters to discuss - private matters. She gathered her harp and stood. “I will leave you, my lords.” She said with a slight bow. “Good night.” She headed to the door.

“Thank you for playing, Mistress. It truly was enjoyable,” Námo said. “Will you come again?”

Súrelindë turned to face him. “If you wish, I will come again tomorrow.”

Námo nodded then replied verbally, realizing his silent motion was pointless. “I would like that very much.” He found her blush charming. He could not help noticing that she clearly took after her Adaneth mother. Though slender and graceful, she had more curves than any elleth or Vala that Námo knew. Her hair was a chestnut brown, and although pulled back in a loose braid, curls escaped and framed her face. Her ears had a subtle point, and overall, she was a pretty peredhel. 

Círdan watched the interaction intently. Súrelindë meant a great deal to him and he thought of her as the daughter he never had. They became close after Gildor left her on the shipwright’s doorstep some 100 years ago, after the lightning strike robbed her of her sight. She had only been eighteen, however, she had grown in Adanath fashion and therefore was already into adulthood. Not until she reached thirty did he realize that she had stopped aging as the Adanath did. The shipwright spoke with Gildor about this. He had no answer, but was clearly happy that his daughter appeared to now belong to the Eldar. Námo appeared quite interested in her and fear gripped at the ancient elf’s heart. He needed to know what brought the Vala to Arda.

*******


	3. Doomsman of the Valar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Námo's secrets are out. Will it destroy any chance of his finding happiness?  
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you here to claim a soul or pass judgment?” Círdan asked when the door closed. The ancient elf watched for any non-verbal sign.

“No, not exactly,” Námo responded softly, not meeting the elf’s eyes. “It is more personal than that.” The Vala felt his face flush; he was not used to feeling emotions like embarrassment. It unnerved him greatly. Námo always thought of himself as a calm and rational being; he could handle anything. Yet, here he was, studying the pattern on the blanket, avoiding a mere elf’s gaze, having to admit that an area of his life lacked. Círdan waited patiently. Námo sighed, “I am lonely. I long to have a mate, someone who will love me as I am and be willing to help me in my work. I am the only Vala who has not found a soul-mate.” Pleading eyes looked up. “I just want to be loved and to love in return. Those who have accepted my company soon find that my work is too trying, the fëar make them uncomfortable, and my realm dark. Furthermore, I find they only wish to bed the mysterious Vala. I want, no, I need more than just passing fancies for the rest of eternity.”

Círdan looked at the unhappy being before him. “So you came to Arda to find a wife. Or perhaps a husband?”

“ A wife. Please, I…”

“Peace. I understand your predicament. It cannot be easy for you. You are not just any Vala. Your name often instills fear…I know wrongly so,” Círdan quickly added. “People believe that when you appear it is to take a soul. They have come to fear you, not daring to utter your name. They think you harsh and cold. I know the fears are unfounded. I do not envy you your task and I am afraid that you will be disappointed in the end.” Círdan paused and stood, “However, you must first heal physically. Then you may focus on your search. I will help any way I can.” Círdan rose to leave then paused, looking deep into the onyx eyes. “There is something else.”

The Vala nodded. “I have only two cycles of the moon. Then I must return to my realm, mate or no.” 

Círdan reached down and stroked the sleek raven locks as he would any hurting elf. “I am certain there is someone for you, perhaps closer than you think. You will find her.” With that, the ancient elf lord left.

Námo knew this to be true, however he also knew that the people of Arda had an image of him and it was not endearing. The elves of Valinor knew him, interacted with him on a regular basis; they did not find him so frightening. If he walked up to a potential mate in Arda, she would most likely flee in terror. Námo sighed as melancholy filled him. Perhaps this was a mistake; maybe he should accept his solitude and return to his realm.  
Sleep eluded him for what seemed like hours. His body wanted rest, but his mind would not give in.

Súrelindë heard the sigh as she entered the room. She could feel the sadness in the room and she wondered what distressed the elf-lord so. “Hîr nin?” she asked softly. “I do not mean to intrude, but are you all right?”

Námo looked up in surprise; he had not heard her enter. He watched as she stood hesitantly at the door. “I am fine,” he said taking a cleansing breath. “Just a bit tired of being bedridden.” Námo felt his troubled mind relax and the room brighten when the young half-elf smiled.

“Círdan thought you might like me to play some more, help you drift to sleep. But perhaps it would be better if I returned tomorrow.” Súrelindë began to turn. 

“I would love for you to play. My spirit is restless and your playing brings me peace.” Súrelindë moved into the room and sat in the bedside chair, strumming softly. 

As Námo felt tranquility wash over his entire being, a soft knock followed by the healer’s soft voice disturbed him. 

“I need to clean your wounds,” the healer said, setting a bowl of warm water on the table. “I will need you to move, my dear.” 

Súrelindë stood. “Of course. I will wait outside.”

Námo spoke up. “That is not necessary. Please, continue to play.”

“I will stay and play if you wish. It is not like I can peek,” she replied with a wink, although her cheeks flushed. The Vala’s laugh filled the room.

“All right,” said the healer, “now be still.” The bandages came off and Námo felt his chest and abdomen relax. The dressings were so stiff! The healer removed the herb pack and began to wash the wound when they heard a commotion in the hall. The door to Námo’s room opened and another healer stepped inside. He crossed quickly to his superior, whispered urgently, concern etched on his face, then left.

“Súrelindë,” the healer said as he rose, “I need your assistance please.”

She set her instrument down. “What has happened?” she asked.

“It seems Lady Mindoniel’s little one has decided to enter the world a bit early,” he replied as he positioned her on the edge of the bed. Taking her hand, he guided her reach to the basin of water and then to the wound on Námo’s side. “This area needs to be cleaned,” he instructed. “Then,” he pulled her hand, “the wound on his head. I am sure he can help guide you. When you are done,” he placed her hand on the dry towel, “pat dry and cover him. I will return when I can to apply the ointment and re-bandage.” The healer had spoken quickly and already moved towards the door. Before Súrelindë could ask a question, he was gone. Without a word, she picked up the washcloth from the basin, wrung it out carefully and turned back to Námo.

“Although I have done this before, I do not know the extent of your wounds. Please tell me if I hurt you.” Using her free hand, she attempted to find his wound. Her touch was soft, gentle, and very warm on the Vala’s cool skin. 

Seeing her hand hesitate, Námo grasped her wrist and placed her hand on his wound. She smiled shyly, feeling the firm muscles under her fingers. Carefully she began to wash the wound and surrounding area. Námo could not help but stare at her as she worked. Her face was a mask of concentration. She ‘looked’ intently at what she was doing. Námo noticed that her eyes were not a solid color, but a unique blend of green, brown, and gold. Her braid now fell over her shoulder and sat on the swell of her breast. As she leaned forward to clean the cut on his temple, he took in her scent, a lemony sweet-grass fragrance. It triggered a vague memory; the scent seemed familiar.

“You have the hands of a healer,” he said gently.

“But not the eyes for it,” Súrelindë replied. She did not mean it to sound bitter, but at times, she found it difficult to accept her loss. “Forgive me. I did not mean to be harsh. I am grateful to be alive,” she added softly.

Námo reached up with his hand and brushed his knuckles across her cheek. It amazed him how warm her skin was - more so than a full-blooded elf’s. “No need to apologize,” he said gently. 

Súrelindë’s hands stilled at his touch. She jumped when the door opened without warning. 

“Pardon me, but Súrelindë is needed right away.” 

Súrelindë was already standing, searching for her harp. 

“I will bring it,” the servant continued. “Second room on the right.” 

The minstrel left as quickly as she could. The ellon retrieved her harp and followed, closing the door as he left. Námo sat for a moment in stunned silence. What was going on? He pulled the blankets up as the cool night air chilled his damp chest. The Vala could not get the image of the young half-elf out of his mind. He could still remember how warm her touch had been, how gentle. Though her eyes were blind, he could see deep into her fëa and knew her to be a good and gentle creature. He found himself wondering if she already had someone and had she yet made her choice of race. 

He dozed for a time, hoping that she might return. The sounds from the healing hall died down and Námo could hear the faint sounds of singing floating on the breeze. So, she sings as well. He wondered for whom she sang. With a pang of jealousy, he wished she sang for him.

Feeling extremely restless, the Vala rose from the bed, very slowly. His physical body ached in protest. Ignoring the discomfort, he searched the room for something to wear. Finding a long robe, he wrapped it around his body. Stepping silently into the hall, he realized how late it was, as no one seemed to be around, and he followed the sound of the music. As he drew close to a room, he heard soft singing. The voice sounded tired but still the notes were gentle and clear. The door stood open so the Vala ventured in. An elleth lay in the bed, resting from the ordeal of birth. He noticed the peaceful aura around the exhausted body. Súrelindë sat near by in a rocking chair, holding a small bundle. 

Súrelindë stopped singing and cocked her head. “Who is there?" she questioned, pulling her precious bundle closer.

“It is only I. I heard your singing,” Námo said nonchalantly, “and was drawn to it. Is all well with the child and mother?” he asked. He did not sense anything amiss but in his present state could not be sure.

“Lady Mindoniel is well, though she is exhausted. She delivered early and her husband is still out on patrol. Master Healer says that she will recover but needs rest. The little one is small, but strong. He will make it. I hope to keep him quiet so she can rest, but soon he will want food and that I cannot help him with.” Instinctively she looked down at the bundle in her arms. Námo felt for her, knowing that she could not see the slate eyes staring up at her intently. A noise and sobs coming from the bed drew both minstrel and Vala’s attention.

“No, please I beg you. Do not take my son,” the elleth sobbed in near hysterics. “I will go in his place, Hîr nin Námo! Please!” The she-elf attempted to get out of bed. Námo, acting quickly, moved to stay her, only to have her cry out in terror. “Not my baby! Not my precious child!” She beat her fists against him as he tried to settle her in the bed. The mother’s panicked voice frightened the infant who answered with a resounding cry. 

Súrelindë, confused by the chaos, shuffled quickly to the bed. “Peace, my lady. Here is your little one. Lord Námo is not here. Hush now. See, he is safe,” she said firmly, placing the crying bundle in his mother’s arms.

“He is. I see him. He has come for my child!” The elleth continued to cry.

Námo knew that the elleth needed to calm down and rest. The trauma of the early delivery had taken a great toll on the young she-elf. She had lost much blood and was very weak. It had nearly caused her to fade; that is why she was able to recognize him. Her fëa saw the truth. The Vala did the only thing he could do to quiet her. “I am not here for you or your child.” He spoke slowly and calmly. 

She broke into a new set tears. “Oh my beloved Varyamo. He is gone, I know! Orcs have slain him and I too will fade!” 

“No!” Námo said in his Vala voice. Súrelindë trembled at the sound. In a kinder voice he continued, “Your soul-mate is safe and will return home soon. Your child will do wondrous things in his life and will bring love to one who has none. I am not here to claim any soul,” he finished with a sigh.

The elleth settled down and looked intently at the Vala. “All will be well?” she asked, kissing her babe’s dark hair as sleep overcame her.

“Aye.” Námo said gently. He turned to leave, his physical body tired and sore from struggling with the distraught elleth. “Sing for her, please. She needs the peace it will bring.” With that, the Vala of Death limped from the room.

Súrelindë, too stunned to do otherwise, sang. Soon mother and son were in deep reverie. Súrelindë left to seek her own bed as dawn already colored the sky. Questions clogged her tired mind. Later she would seek out Círdan and find out if the mysterious stranger with whom she felt so comfortable was in fact the Doomsman of the Valar.


	4. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irmo quietly gives his brother guidance and support.

Námo expected to find little sleep that night. He felt horrible for frightening that mother. He thought she would remain asleep and therefore not notice him. However, a mother could always sense his presence. Now Súrelindë knew the truth. What would the beautiful half-elf think of him? Would she ever play for him again? He felt tears sting his eyes as he thought of the loss of her music, her warmth, her presence. He closed his eyes against the tears, yet his body betrayed him and they slid down his cheeks.

Irmo watched his brother sadly. “Peace, brother. Let your dreams guide you.” With a wave of his hand, the Vala of Dreams graced his kinsman with rest.

Námo’s dream brought him to a beautiful waterfall. As he looked across the small pond, he noted a figure immersed in the flowing water. Lean limbs stretched up to the sky as the naked body emerged from the falls. With all the grace of an eldar, the female dove into the crystal blue water. Námo felt his body stir as he looked across the water’s surface, anticipating the reemergence of the beautiful female. The calm of the surface was shattered as the woman came up for air. Námo walked to the edge of the water’s edge, only now noticing his own naked body. His hair danced on the breeze and a soft sent of sweet lemon caught his attention. Where had he smelled that before? He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of the wind on his body. When he opened his eyes, he found the female standing close enough to touch. The sun was at her back and cast a fiery halo around her head. Námo strained to see through it, to see her face, but to no avail. Casting his eyes away from her face, he took sight of her body. Long and lean, full breasts begging to be suckled. Water droplets dripped from the brown hair and rolled leisurely over her body, moving along her curves and contours. Námo, despite his body awakening, made no move to touch the vision before him. The female stepped closer, her hand pressed flat against his chest. She moved her hand, delicately tracing over his muscles, up to his shoulder and down to his hand. Clasping his wrist, she raised it to her lips and kissed the soft skin on the underside before nuzzling the palm. This broke Námo from his stupor. Gently taking her face in both his hands, he bent down and kissed her warm, pliable lips. He could not stop the moan as she returned the kiss. The Vala, now filled with desire, kissed along her jaw and as she let her head fall to the side, allowing access to her neck, he took advantage. Kisses were peppered down the smooth column as the female sighed with pleasure. Námo let his hands slide down her back as he dropped to his knees. In this position, he need only lean forward and capture a rosy nipple in his mouth. She arched into the moist heat, threading her hands through his hair.   
“Námo nin!” Her words were no more than a breathless whisper.

Námo bolted upright wide eyes blinking against the darkness. He knew that voice! Why were his dreams so cruel? He could never have her. People would see it as taking advantage of her. He lay back, keenly aware of his throbbing member, leaking with unquenched desire. Snaking his hand between the sheets, he began to stroke himself angrily. His thoughts drifted back to the dream, the glorious, impossible dream. He envisioned her stroking him, licking him, receiving him. He worked his hardened flesh faster and soon tensed, her name on his lips as he spilt his seed. Exhausted, he fell back into reverie.

 

*******

Námo woke in the morning rested but filled with a deep longing. He quickly cleaned up his now dry mess and waited. A servant brought breakfast. The healer checked his progress and deemed the Vala fit enough to leave the halls once a room was ready for him. Námo waited. Still she did not come. At lunchtime, Círdan joined him. The shipwright explained that rooms would be ready mid afternoon. They, or rather Círdan, talked through the meal. When Námo pushed his half-eaten plate aside, Círdan took pity on the Vala.

“What happened last night?” Círdan asked calmly.

“Surely you know by now.” 

Círdan’s stormy eyes looked at the Vala with understanding. “Then tell me what you think about what happened last night.”

“I think,” Námo began, “that I should leave this place. I have caused enough of a disturbance.”

“I thought you sought love.”

“I do, but how can I search here, now that I have terrified a new mother and a blind girl. I should just return to my halls. They fear me too much. None could love the Herald of Death”

“You would give up so easily? I though you mightier than that,” Círdan challenged. Námo sent the elf a warning look, his already dark mood getting darker. The ancient elf ignored it. “The mother is just fine. I spoke with her earlier. She said that you gave a prophecy about her newborn son. She believes the child is blessed by the Valar.”

“So he is,” Námo said.

“How easily you forget that you are also the Vala of Comfort and of Rebirth. As for the blind girl, Súrelindë is surprised to have been in the company of a Vala. Actually stunned is a better word for it. She became all flustered about playing for you. She came halfway here this morn then turned around to head back to her rooms. I swear it took four times before she finally made it here. Hmm, actually I am surprised to find you alone. She was rather cross that I knew and never told her.”

“She has not played for me today,” Námo said dejectedly. “I understand though. I am just sorry she learned the truth.”

“Why are you sorry? She should know the truth, and of all people should be able to see beyond the persona. Súrelindë just lacks confidence in herself, no thanks to how people perceive her. It has not been easy to adjust to life here. She did not want to stay, but Gildor feared for her safety, given her lack of sight. I regret that many of the young women were less than supportive. Many do not think much of the Wandering Company or the Edain. As such, well, Súrelindë does not think much of her self. She is such a beautiful creature.”

“Yes, she is,” Námo said without thinking. He blushed.

“I wish she would find someone who will show her just how special she is. I know it would make her father--and me--happy.”

“Surely she has many suitors.” Námo tried to sound nonchalant.

“Few seek her out and she approaches none. As I said, many think themselves above her. The ellyn here want a wife who does all the traditionally wifely things. Súrelindë does many of them but has limitations.” Círdan sighed. “She is a gem that is always overlooked.”

Námo remained silent for a while. He could not imagine someone with so wonderful a fëa alone. Were all the ellyn here as stupid as the ellith were shallow? If she would give him a chance, he would show her how precious she was. That thought brought a flutter to his insides.

“Well, come on. Let us get you to your rooms. I am sure you are sick of the healing halls,” Círdan was saying as he laid out new robes for the Vala.

“Forgive me, what did you say?” Námo asked, as he had been thinking about Súrelindë and his sudden attraction to her.

Círdan chuckled. “I said let us get you settled in your rooms. I will bring you your belongings in a bit. Here, they are not what you are used to, but they will work for now.” he said, indicating the clothing he had set out for his guest.

Námo looked at the robes. They were perfect and he was grateful for the shipwright’s generosity. When Círdan turned his back, the Vala dressed. “I truly love Súrelindë’s playing. Do you think you could convince her to play for me again?”

“Hard to say. I think she took a bit of a fancy to you and now that she knows you are a Vala, she is embarrassed.”

“I am no different now than I was when I first arrived.”

“I know that and you know that, but she, well, she is a woman. Who truly understands them at all?” Círdan finished with a laugh. Hearing the Vala approach, the old elf turned with a smile. “Now that is the Námo I remember. You will turn many heads here that is for sure. I do not think fear of you will be an issue.”

Námo rolled his eyes and indicated the shipwright should lead the way. “There is only one head I believe I want to turn,” he mumbled. 

Círdan smiled as he led the Vala down the hall. He had heard the muttered words and if he read the signals right, Námo more than fancied Súrelindë. That made him very happy.

Círdan chuckled as the two walked from the house of healing to Círdan’s main house. The ancient elf had been right, heads turned. Every elleth and ellon greeted them with a smile and few averted their hungry gaze. Námo ignored the looks; he knew whom he wanted.

*******


	5. Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After discovering the Vala's true identity, Súrelindë draws back from him. She can not understand why so magnificent a being would bother with her. For his part, Námo is enamored but fears he has frightened her away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: In my little corner of Arda, peredhel grow and mature at the rate of the mother’s race, until they reach maturity (18 for humans/50 for elves). Then they slow down until they choose their race.   
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Súrelindë did not seek out Námo that day, nor the day that followed. She did not know what to make of the Vala’s presence. Before she knew his identity, she enjoyed his company. They spoke little, but it always felt comfortable. Now she wondered why the great being tolerated her. Did he pity her as others did? She sat on her window seat, face turned to the cool night breeze. Círdan told her Námo asked for her. The Vala, he assured her, truly enjoyed her music and her company. Something about how the shipwright said it left the young half-elf wondering. Now she found she missed the unseen presence. She had to admit that an aura of comfort surrounded her when she was with Námo, she felt respected, safe, appreciated. He had a powerful body and was taller than she by inches. His skin was smooth and cool to the touch, though not cold. She could not say anything about his other features; however, she heard whispers about him, his hair and eyes. She could not read his thoughts or feelings in his eyes; no, she had to rely on intuition and non-visible cues. Súrelindë remembered how he felt as she tended his wounds and butterflies swarmed in her stomach. She had thought, maybe, perhaps, he would be different from the others. She felt he truly saw her as a person, capable of living a near normal life, loving and being loved. She sighed. Loneliness filled her soul. Sliding from her seat, she moved slowly to her bed. Settling between the cool sheets, she said a silent prayer and drifted to sleep.

Irmo watched from the shadows. He liked this little one. She had a special gift that would make her a comfort to more than his brother. Unfortunately, she thought so little of herself that she might never approach Námo again and that would not do. Time was running out.

Súrelindë felt herself drift into the world of dreams and she welcomed them. Always she found peace in the dreams, even in her solitude. This night however, she could feel the presence of another, a gentle caress on her shoulder, a nip at her neck. A soft voice whispered tender words of love and devotion; strong arms embraced her. The gentle scent of juniper filled her nose as warm lips pressed a kiss to her ear. A cool hand caressed her neck.

“Play for me,” a voice begged. “Come back and play for me…”

Súrelindë stretched. What a wonderful dream! She lay amid her bedding like a lazy cat, a small smile on her lips. She found that this dream was not so difficult to relive. The warm, cherished feeling remained. That voice, compelling her to play for him…him…She sat up and cocked her head as if to listen for the voice. “Come back and play for me,” the voice had said. Could it be that Námo came to her through her dreams, requesting her to play? But, why? Was she denying a summons from the Vala? That could be dangerous! She ran a hand through her tousled brown hair. There was only one way to find out.

A quick bath followed by the taming of her unruly hair started her morning. She dressed quickly, grabbed her harp and headed to the dining hall for a small bite. Then, she thought with resolve, she would seek out Námo…after a calming stroll through the garden.

**********

Námo could find no rest. It had been two days since he left the healing halls. In that time, the lovely little bard had not returned to play for him. Círdan assured the Vala that he had delivered his message. The longer he was away from her, the more desperate he became to be with her. Súrelindë now intruded on both his waking and sleeping mind. Therefore, if she were reluctant to come to him, he would seek her out instead. With that decided, the Doomsman went about getting ready. He combed his hair until it shone with the depthless sheen of obsidian. He pulled the sides back and attached them with a jeweled clip. The ancient mariner had made sure that suitable robes hung in the wardrobe. He now chose a deep burgundy set. When he was dressed, he glanced at his reflection and smirked. He had gone to great lengths to look his best for a woman who could not see him. 

He left his rooms and made his way through the house. He asked a passing servant if she knew the whereabouts of the young minstrel. The elleth blushed and stuttered out her answer, pointing out of the window to the garden. With a bow of thanks, the Vala left the flustered maid. He entered the garden and took a deep breath. A myriad of scents assailed him. At times like this, he understood why no one living wished to remain in his domain for long. His halls held the smells of earth and stone, not roses and lilies. He slowly wandered the curved pathway, letting his feet take him where they will, when suddenly a she-elf appeared at his side. He looked down at her as she linked her arm through his.

“Ah, Hîr nín it is good to see you up and about,” the elleth cooed. Námo merely nodded. 

“It is a beautiful day for a walk, is it not?” she continued, pressing herself close.

“It is,” the Vala replied, annoyed. “Although, it might be better if you would help me,” he added. The elleth, whom he now recognized as the one from the Healing House, beamed up at him.

“Oh, I would love to. Tell me, what do you need?” She had stopped walking and now clung to the tall figure, looking up expectantly.

“I am seeking someone.” Her look turned questioning. Námo continued, “I am looking for the one called Súrelindë. Have you seen her?”

The color drained from the she-elf’s face and she faltered briefly. Regaining her composure, she replied, “I have not seen the child. She is prone to coming and going; wandering is in her blood. Why do you seek her? Perhaps I could be of better service?” she added.

Námo eyed her. She tried to hide her dislike of the half-elf, but the Vala could see through her.

“No, I am afraid you cannot. I wish to get to know her better.” He untangled his arm from hers. “Now if you will excuse me, I was told she is in the garden and I intend to find her. Good day,” he said pleasantly. He turned, leaving a glowering elleth in his wake. The she-elf stood briefly, stunned by the dismissal. She then quickly looked around, making certain no one had seen, before storming off in the opposite direction.

Námo continued on his quest. Soon he noticed a figure strolling amid the lilies. Her measured gait was relaxed and she often stopped, flittering her hand about to find a delicate bloom, before bending to enjoy its fragrance. Námo approached silently.

“Their scent is quite intoxicating,” he said by way of greeting. Súrelindë, standing and turning to face the unexpected voice, found her balance off and nearly toppled into the flowers. Námo reacted quickly, grabbing her arms. Consequently, the slight half-elf found her direction changed. Her hand came up and encountered a firm chest. She felt her heart leap and her cheeks flush.

“Forgive me Hîr nín,” she said shakily.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Námo countered, still holding on to her upper arms. “It is I who should beg forgiveness for startling you so.” He raised a hand to caress her cheek briefly. “I should have announced myself.”

Súrelindë’s soul soared at the tender touch. The Vala’s cool hand made her body warm, and a surge of excitement flowed through her core. She struggled to regain her composure. “It is alright. I…I am sorry I have not come to play for you as you requested. I…”

Námo stayed her with a finger to her lips. “I understand. I gave you quite a shock the other night.”

“Oh no,” Súrelindë began. “I mean you did but still I should not have ignored your summons.”

Námo stepped back at this and dropped his hands. “Summons? Is that how you perceived my wish?” There was pain in his voice.

Súrelindë did not answer right away. She was sensing something in the Vala, disappointment. “I did not mean…” She stopped. “That is you asked for me to play for you and I said I would but did not. It was disrespectful of me to ignore…” She paused again. This was not working. Her words were all wrong. She did not know what to say.

“You have free will, penneth. You do not *have* to do anything,” Námo said dejectedly. “It is clear that you would prefer not to play for me. I will not trouble you again.” He turned to leave. A delicate hand reached out for him and just caught the sleeve of his robe.

“You misunderstand,” Súrelindë said quickly. “I wish to play for you; I enjoy it very much, really I do. I just do not understand why you would choose me. I am nothing but a blind half-breed gypsy. The Master Bard here plays much better than I do. I am not like the ellith of this realm. They have poise, knowledge, and know the proper way to behave in your presence. You are Námo, the Keeper of Spirits. Why on Arda would you want to spend time with me? Surely there are more important people, more worthy people, deserving of your time.” Her gentle ramblings pleaded with the Vala to explain, to help her understand.

Námo’s heart stirred. He turned back to her. His onyx eyes took in her whole being, from the curves of her physical body to the depth of her illuminated fëa. He liked what he saw. He took her small hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. “There is no one more important here than you. Come, walk with me.”

“But, my harp,” Súrelindë attempted to turn back to where she had set the instrument.

“It will be safe,” Námo said with a gentle tug. “You can play for me later if you so desire. Right now, I would love to walk with you.”

From his balcony, Círdan watched the two. He had dispatched a rider earlier that morning to locate the Wandering Company. He only hoped Gildor would not delay. The gypsy prince had a right to know who courted his daughter.


	6. Under A Watchful Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After receiving a message from Círdan that someone showed interest in the elf-lord's daughter, Gildor arrives unexpectedly at the haven to discover that it is no elf--nor man--who desires his little girl!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there are several ideas of Gildor's background. I am of the mind that he is in fact a High Elf of Valinor and kin in some manner to Finwe. He would know Námo from hid youth.

The next few days often found Námo and Súrelindë together. They walked in the gardens, talking as if life-long friends. Súrelindë played the harp and sang for the Vala either in the garden or in the Great Hall after dinner. When she attended to her duties in the Healing House Námo sought other distractions. After frightening the young mother, the Vala of Death thought it best to avoid the Healing House. He visited with the ancient shipwright, wandered through the market or just read in the vast library. The Vala was keenly aware that one cycle of the moon had passed. He had less than thirty days to find his mate. He looked out the window at the beautiful day and his spirits lifted. Although he had made the acquaintance of several ellith, none sparked his interest. No, he seemed drawn to the half-elf. He wanted to get to know her better. 

**** 

Súrelindë stood and left the room quietly. The young elf rested peacefully in a deep healing sleep. The fall from a nearby cliff nearly cost him his life, but fortunately his companion remained calm and managed to get him to the healers. She felt exhausted, as she often did when she sang this way. She poured everything she had into her song, convinced that she helped bring peace. As she left the room silently, she thanked the Valar that she did not have to sing his fëa into Námo’s care. This made her wonder. Who was tending to the fëar while the Vala was in Arda? While elves did not die as often as the Adain, they did die. She also wondered if her playing as they passed really made a difference, as Círdan said it did. Súrelindë thought not; her playing may bring comfort to the living, but surely not to those following Námo’s call.

She lifted her head to the breeze and smiled. The wind played with wisps of hair that escaped the confines of her braid. She smiled. Happiness filled her being as it never had before. For the first time since she lost her sight she felt at peace with the world around her. She knew it was because of the attention Námo gave her. He made her feel normal and intelligent and grown up. Although he always offered her his arm and gave whispered words of direction or caution, he never directed or maneuvered her as others did. The young peredhel found herself drawn to the compassionate being. From the gossip she heard, he was as beautiful on the outside as he was inside. Her hands itched to touch his face, to ‘see’ him, but she dared not without permission. The rational part of her mind never let her forget that her new friend was one of the almighty, a servant of Ilúvatar. Her heart on the other hand reminded her that she was lonely and desired love. She breathed the crisp air and sighed. Enjoy it now, she told herself. Námo will eventually have to return to his realm and duties and will soon forget you.

Using her cane to guide her, Súrelindë made her way across the courtyard. She climbed the steps to the main house, hoping to clean up before supper. As she reached the top, an unexpected voice stopped her.

“What is this I hear about a suitor?”

“Adar!” Gildor pulled his daughter into a warm, familiar, and greatly missed embrace. “What are you doing here? I did not expect you until the fall festival!” Súrelindë asked as she squeezed him around the neck as she had as a child.

“A little bird told me you had a suitor. What kind of ada would I be if I did not come to investigate?”

Súrelindë Gildoriell laughed, “Suitor? No, though I have a new friend.”

“And is this friend an ellon?”

“Well, not exactly.”

Gildor was surprised. He thought his daughter-preferred males, but perhaps things had changed. “An elleth then?”

A laugh that rang like music filled the air. “No, Ada. He is male, but not exactly an ellon.”

“Ah! A peredhel, wonderful. When do I get to meet your suitor…I mean friend?”

Súrelindë slapped him playfully. “Just for that, perhaps never,” she said mischievously.

“But I should very much like to meet your Adar, penneth,” a deep voice said from behind them. Gildor turned, protectively placing himself between the Doomsman of the Valar and his precious daughter.

Súrelindë pushed passed her father to stand between the two males. “Ada, *this* is my new friend. Lord Námo, may I present my father, Gildor Inglorion. Ada, Lord Námo.”

Gildor stood in stunned silence. Surely this could not be the “suitor” to which Círdan alluded.

Námo bowed low, his hand over his heart. “It is an honor to meet you again. You were but a child when last I saw you.”

Námo’s voice brought Gildor back and he quickly returned the greeting. “Hîr nín. The honor is mine. I fear I did not know you were in Arda; I am afraid…”

Námo raised his hand to stop the elf-lord’s words. He moved forward. “Understood. I suppose one would not expect their child to befriend the Vala of Death. I would be concerned also.”

Súrelindë gave the Vala a disapproving look. She hated the way Námo said that, as if he was something terrible. Gildor watched the interaction carefully. He did not miss the look of admiration in the Vala’s eyes, or the barely concealed desire. When he looked at his daughter, he saw loyalty and affection. Gildor decided to be a silent observer at least until he could speak with Círdan. Námo, aware of the scrutiny, thought it best to let father and daughter have some time alone so he excused himself. “If you will excuse me, I will let you get on with your reunion. I hope to see you at supper and I will understand, Mistress, if you wish to postpone our walk today,” he said with a slight bow to Súrelindë.

Gildor watched as disappointment flashed in his daughter’s sightless eyes. Therefore, she enjoyed the Vala’s company. Well, he did not wish her to be disappointed. “Actually, I have business matters to discuss with Círdan before evening meal. That is why I sought you out now. I thought we could visit for a bit before my meeting. Perhaps, penneth, we can spend the day together tomorrow instead?” 

Súrelindë’s face lit up. “I would like that, Ada. My lord,” she addressed Námo, “May I meet you in the garden after supper for a walk?”

“I would enjoy that greatly,” the Vala replied. His black eyes locked with Gildor’s blue ones. The gypsy elf nodded before taking his daughter’s arm and steering her towards her rooms. Námo watched their retreating forms. It was no coincidence that the Elf-lord arrived now. 

****


	7. Námo’s Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Námo’s feelings grow, Gildor seeks insight from the ancient shipwright.  
> ~~~~~~~~~~~

“So how is it you have become friends with Lord Námo?” Gildor asked casually. 

Súrelindë told the tale, answering questions along the way. 

“So you had no idea who the ‘stranger’ was?” Gildor asked.

“Ada, I never imagined a Vala would be in Arda, let alone lying in such the state; his body was so near death.”

“How do you feel about him now that you know?”

Súrelindë wondered about her father’s questions but answered just the same. “I feel a bit unbalanced and embarrassed. I admit I grew fond of him. I actually thought that perhaps our friendship might become more until I learned his identity.”

“And now that you know who he is you no longer have that desire, to be more than friends?” Gildor watched with a well-trained eye. Súrelindë began to shuffle around her room, doing really nothing. “Penneth?”

“I still have feelings for him, but he is a Vala. He could not have such feelings for me. I am nothing to one so great. Anyway, I am sure he has a mate or at least a score of lovers.”

Gildor heard the sadness in her voice. He went to his daughter and gathered her into his arms. “Do not sell yourself short, penneth. You are as beautiful as any elleth inside and out. You have many gifts to offer, not the least is your understanding, compassion and music. Do you realize how many you have soothed with what Ilúvatar gave you? Even Námo is moved by your music.”

“Are you actually saying that Námo could be interested in me beyond friendship?” the young peredhel asked, disbelief coloring her voice.

“What I am saying iell, is anything is possible and you should not forget that.” He kissed her forehead. “Now, I will let you get cleaned up for supper and your stroll. I must seek out that ancient barnacle of an elf.” Súrelindë giggled as she bid her father goodbye, agreeing to meet for breakfast. She shut the door behind him.

*******

Gildor made for Círdan’s study and was not surprised to find the shipwright waiting, two glasses of wine sitting on a small table flanked by comfortable chairs. “Expecting me?” he asked, taking a seat and eyeing the older elf suspiciously.

“You made me wait longer than I thought.”

“I took some time to see Súrelindë; Námo approached us.”

The bearded elf’s eyebrow rose. “So you have seen him.”

“Yes. When I asked about a suitor, Súrelindë claimed to have none.”

“Perhaps she is unaware of his interest. I am not sure Námo is aware of it himself.”

“I think you need to tell me what you have observed that leads you to think the Vala desires her.”

Círdan sipped his wine. “Let me tell you why Námo is here. He is searching for his soul mate. It seems that he is lonely and none in Valinor touch his inner being. Ilúvatar granted him two months to search Arda. He lay on the brink of death for nearly three weeks, Súrelindë played for him as she does for all so seriously ill. He has been hale for a bit over a week now and has made no move to leave. That leads me to believe that something, or someone, has caught his attention. The only one he really spends time with is Súrelindë. They take walks in the garden, he reads to her in the library, and she plays for him in the great hall or in the garden. He treats her with kindness and respect. However, as far as I know he has never been in a private setting with her…other than when he lay in the Healing House. He is the perfect man. She glows in his presence. I have never seen her so alive and happy.”

“Alive. That is a key word. How could there be a relationship between them? She would have to live in his realm. Could she do that and be alive?” Gildor took a sip before continuing, “I know it is selfish of me, but would I ever get to see her again?”

Círdan understood Gildor’s concerns. They were the same reservations he had. “I suppose those would be questions to ask Námo. Perhaps you should ask the Vala’s intentions regarding your iell.”

The lord of the Wandering Company choked on his wine. “You think I should approach one of the Valar and ask his intention? Are you mad!”

“You would demand to know the intensions of an ellon, would you not? What is the difference? She is you daughter. You want what is best for her and you have concerns. Námo is a reasonable being and will understand. It is not like he will strike you dead.”

Gildor stared into his wine, swirled the crimson liquid and drank the remaining half a glass in one gulp. “What if we have read too much into this? What if he simply enjoys her company, as a friend? I do not wish to embarrass anyone or cause her false hope. I saw how she lights up at his voice. She admitted to wondering about a deeper relationship before she learned his identity. I would not see her heart broken.”

“If she has feelings for him that may run deeper, she will not be able to ignore them. I do believe he remains here because of her. I think she is the one for him. As I see it, she cares for him having never seen his physical form. Moreover, it began before she knew the truth. Námo said that others only wanted to bed *him*, the Vala, a trophy. His other prospects thought Mandos lacking and the fëar there unnerving. Súrelindë cannot see the shades or Mandos. Her world is already dark. Furthermore, I feel her music could be of benefit to those who stay in the Halls. In a clamshell, I truly believe they are a solid match.”

Gildor listened and thought hard. Círdan was known for his wisdom and uncanny sense of perception, bordering on foresight. Gildor always hoped his little one would find a good, loving husband and you could not do better than a Vala. He would speak with Námo about his concerns and go from there.

“Well, now that that is settled,” Círdan said abruptly, “there will be a welcoming feast in your honor the day after tomorrow. That should help those two realize their feelings. Námo is running out of time and being the gentleman he is, is moving just a bit too slow.” 

The old friends finished their discussion and moved to the great hall for supper. Círdan’s chief advisor Saelind, Súrelindë, Námo and a few others soon joined them. Gildor joined in the conversations around him, but was keenly aware of his daughter and the Vala. After the meal, the two excused themselves. Gildor noticed how Námo offered his arm to Súrelindë instead of taking it and leading her out. That was good. When they exited the terrace doors, Gildor returned his attention to the Great Hall.

****  
Súrelindë and Námo walked through the moonlit garden in silence. The Vala could tell something was on the young one’s mind. He hoped that there had not been strife between daughter and father over their friendship. If there was, then any hope of pursuing more was over; he would not come between them. Finally, he spoke up. “Would you share with me what troubles you?”

Súrelindë turned her head towards his voice, pulled from her thoughts. “I am sorry. I was thinking that is all.”

“What are you thinking?” The Vala asked.

“It is silly really, for it is of little importance, but I wonder what you look like.” She blushed. Námo thought it was a most endearing sight.

“In this form I am an ellon with dark hair and eyes and pale skin. Nothing unusual.”

“That is not what I hear,” Súrelindë replied, her blush deepening. “I have heard it said that your hair shines like obsidian. Your eyes are like onyx, fathomless and wise. They compared your skin to flawless porcelain. I know you are taller than most and your build is lean but strong. They say you are beautiful like a deep lake, reflecting the stars on a moonless night.”

“See you know what I look like,” Námo interrupted, feeling embarrassed by such scrutiny.

“I have heard how others see you. I would like to see you for myself.” She said holding up her hands. Námo now understood her request. Súrelindë ‘saw’ through her hands. She was asking permission to touch him. The thought filled him with both joy and trepidation. What if she did not like what she felt? After a mere moment, he took her hands and placed them on his cheeks. She had to step closer in order to reach. Námo caught her scent as it mingled with the breeze. The balmy summer was fading and there was a chill in the air. His heart thundered in his chest as she began to move her fingers lightly over his features: forehead, eyes, nose, and cheeks. A rush of heat pooled in his groin as her fingers ghosted over his lips. He wanted to place a kiss on them but refrained.

“You have strong features, though they are not harsh,” she whispered, lifting her head. Looking down into her eyes Námo realized that his heart belonged to her. He wanted to bend down and kiss her ruby lips, run his hands through her hair, press her body close. Her fingers quested along his jaw and down his neck. Passion’s flame caused his member to stir. Her hands moved over his shoulders and across his chest. “They are right. You are beautiful.” He felt her warm breath tickle his neck. Before he realized what happened, his arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her close. He felt her tremble, but before he could lower his lips to hers, they were interrupted.

“Pardon me Hîr nín, but I need to speak with Súrelindë.” Círdan’s chief counselor approached the couple. 

Námo stepped back and Súrelindë wondered what the counselor needed of her. 

“If you will excuse us,” the counselor said, moving to the woman’s side. “I will see she gets back to her rooms.” He gently took Súrelindë’s elbow. 

Námo saw her tense briefly. Something about the counselor’s request bothered him but he could not put his finger on it. “Very well,” Námo said with a slight bow, “if Súrelindë has no objections.” There, he would let her decide.

“You are free to speak in front of Lord Námo.”

The counselor eyed the Vala. “I would prefer to speak with you in private.”

Námo did not want to leave them, however he had no grounds to stay. “Mistress, I have something to attend to anyway, perhaps we can continue our walk tomorrow.” The Vala tried to hide the displeasure from his voice and smiled at the counselor.

“Very well then, good night.” With that, the ellon began to usher Súrelindë down the path. She barely had an opportunity to wish Námo a good night herself. The tall Vala watched them disappear around a hedge before turning towards the main house. Perhaps now would be a good time to seek out Gildor Inglorion. Námo’s feelings for Súrelindë grew stronger every day. He wished to make them known. Before he could do that, he needed to speak with the woman’s father.


	8. Suitor's Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Súrelindë is given some unexpected news that leaves her doubting and Námo hopes to gain her father's blessing.  
> ~~~~~~~~~

“You look lovely this evening,” the older ellon said softly.  
  
“Thank you,” Súrelindë said hesitantly.  “What can I do for you, Counselor Saelind?”  
  
“I must admit, I have been watching you these last few decades.  You have grown into a fine woman.”  
  
Súrelindë stopped walking and turned to the counselor.  “Thank you again, but I am afraid I do not understand what this is about.”  
  
Saelind took Súrelindë’s hands in his and raised them to his chest.  “What this is about is...us.  I find myself attracted to you.  I know that you are not in a relationship with anyone.  Your blindness deters many.  I have moved beyond your limitations.  I could offer you the life you deserve, love and comfort.  You would not have to be alone anymore.”  
  
Súrelindë was shocked.  She vaguely remembered this ellon from her youth, before the accident.  He was not unattractive.  He had rich brown hair and a lean body, but his eyes, as she remembered them, were always calculating and a bit distant.  His voice also held a tone of cool arrogance.  They had little contact and when they did, the minstrel always felt uncomfortable.  Now she learned he has been watching her.  
  
“I do not know what to say,” she finally managed to say.  Her hands were pressed against his chest, held captive there by his larger ones.  She very much wanted to remove them, to step back from him.  
  
Trapping both hands in one, the counselor reached up and caressed her hair and cheek.  “You could accept my offer.  Allow me to court you; attend the feast with me tomorrow.  I will speak with your father at that time.  I know he fears you will remain alone.”  He stepped closer; his final words a mere whisper in her ear.  “I can take that fear away from you both.”  
  
“I…I cannot…” she stammered as she tried to pull away.  “I thank you but I cannot accept the offer.  I do not have feelings beyond respect for you.  I am sorry.”  
  
Saelind tightened his grip on her hand.  “You cannot?  Do not be a fool.  No other has offered you half of what I have and no one ever will.  You are blind!  You cannot be the proper wife and housekeeper.  Fortunately, I do not require someone to fix my meals or tend my house.  I have servants for that.  The only duties you need fulfill are those of a proper lady of the court and intimate wifely duties, which should be no great hardship for I am not an inexperienced lover…I can teach you much.”  
  
Súrelindë shook her head, trying to free herself.  She did not want him; she did not love him.  She wanted Námo; her heart desired the Vala.   
  
As if reading her thought, the counselor pushed her away.  “Oh I see; I am not good enough for you.  You have set your sights on a higher prize!” he spat out angrily.  “Do you really believe that a Vala would want you?  Really, penneth!  You think too much of yourself.  Námo toys with you.  You amuse him; that is all.  He can have whomever he chooses and I am sure that he rarely lacks company!”  Tears began to sting Súrelindë’s eyes.  “What will you do when he leaves?  What will you have then?  Tell me!  Nothing!  You will have nothing.  You will look and feel like a fool.  You clearly are not capable of making a practical decision; therefore, I will speak with your father.  He is a rational, albeit eccentric elf, who will heed the voice of reason.  He will see that you are taken care of by me!”  With a swoosh of his robes, he left.  
  
Súrelindë stood rooted to the spot, silent tears streaming down her face.  Was he right?  Had she chosen an impossibility?  The minstrel did not think the Vala toyed with her, but had she misread his attention.  Perhaps he felt pity for her like the others…and what would happen when he left?  She would again be alone.  Her heart began to ache.  Walking slowly back to her rooms, she examined her feelings for the Vala.  As she collapsed onto her bed, she realized that at some point, she had fallen in love with him!  She broke out into uncontrolled sobs as she realized she loved one she would never have.  
  
****  
  
Námo reluctantly left the gardens. He still had an odd feeling about Counselor Saelind and he certainly did not like the way he looked at Súrelindë.  Of course, it did not help that the ellon had interrupted what surely would have been the sweetest kiss he had ever felt.  His mood soured.  With meaningful strides, the Dooms man headed for Gildor’s rooms.  He would feel better after speaking with the elf-lord.  
  
Gildor sat back in the wingback chair, legs stretched out on the ottoman, sipping his wine.  Tomorrow he would spend the day with his iell.  He missed having her with him but his life of wandering really was unsuitable for her.  Still, perhaps she could accompany him on a short trip to one of the other elven realms.  Of course, he would worry less if he knew she found a mate, or at least went out more, did more with others her age.  From what Círdan said, she rarely attended functions, then only with the shipwright.  He rested his head on the back of the chair and sighed.  Now there was this ‘thing’ with Námo.  Although he was flattered that a Vala found interest in his daughter, he feared her feelings for Námo bordered on love.  Her heart would be broken when the Vala left.  A firm knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.  Rising gracefully, he answered the door.  He did not expect to find himself face to face with the Dooms man of the Valar. 

 

“Hîr nín,” he said with a bow, “to what do I owe this unexpected visit?” He sidestepped to allow the Vala entrance.  
  
Námo nodded in greeting. “I wish to speak to you about your iell,” he said stepping farther into the room.  
  
“Ah. Well, shall we sit? May I get you a drink? Tea or wine perhaps?” Gildor asked as he retrieved his own glass from the end table.  
  
“Wine, please,” the Vala said, settling down on the couch.  Gildor willed his hands not to shake as he refilled his own glass and prepared one for his guest.  Though he had no fear of Námo, it unbalanced him that the Vala choose to seek him out.  He moved back to the sitting area and handed Námo his glass.  With a nod of thanks, the Vala accepted the glass.   
  
“So what has my little Súrelindë done now?”  Gildor asked half jokingly as he sat.  
  
“She has stolen my heart,” Námo said bluntly.   
  
Gildor stared at the vision before him.  “Excuse me?”  
  
“I said your iell has stolen my heart…and my soul.  I came to seek a mate and I believe I have found her.  I would like your blessing to pursue my feelings for Súrelindë and examine hers for me.”  
  
Gildor did not know what to say.  Who would have thought one of the Valar would ask permission from an elf!  What was more, Námo had just confessed his love.  Gildor took a slow, deliberate sip from his glass.  Had Círdan not just advised him to get answers from Námo?  And here was the Vala, ready to talk.  Gildor took a breath and focused himself.  ‘Forget that he is a Vala.  Talk to him as you would anyone who sought to court your iell.’  Gildor looked the waiting Vala straight in the eyes.  “So you believe you have fallen in love with my daughter.”  
  
“No.  I know I have.”  
  
“And how does she feel about you?”  Gildor inquired.  
  
“I can only speculate, but I believe she has feelings for me.”  
  
“If you are not sure of her feelings, should you not be speaking with her?”  
  
“I do not wish to cause her pain.  If you do not approve of my intentions, I will not pursue her.”  
  
Gildor watched for any signs of deceit.  “So if I forbade you from courting her, you would not?”  
  
“That is correct.”  
  
Gildor chuckled.  “You do realize that IF my iell has feelings for you, and I do think she does, and she wishes to act on those feelings, she will not stop because I say no.”  
  
“That would not be an issue for I would not respond to her advances.”  
  
“And you think that you could, deny her that is?”  Gildor smiled at the confident Vala.  He had made the same promise to Súrelindë’s grandfather and look where that got him, ten years of marital bliss and a beautiful daughter.  No, Námo would not be able to refuse her charms, Vala or not.  
  
“I would return to my realm immediately.”  
  
“And seek another mate?”  
  
“No.”  Námo stood and moved to the window.  Looking out at the emerging stars he continued.  “She is my soul mate.  I will take no other for mate or pleasure if not her.”  His voice conveyed his sincerity.  
  
Gildor rose and came behind Námo.  Placing a hand on the Vala’s shoulder he said, “Come, we have things to discuss.”  Námo turned and looked at the elf-lord with hope-filled eyes.  They moved back to their seats.  
  
“I do have some questions about all this,” Gildor said.  The Vala gave a nod, and the elf continued.  “Would my daughter have to die to be with you in your realm?”  Gildor rushed the unpleasant question out.  
  
“No.  She would take a ship to Valinor and from there come, living, to my realm.  The living can survive in my halls.  It is just not the most cheerful place so most leave quickly.”  
  
“Would she be happy in your Halls?”  
  
“I would do whatever is in my power to make her happy.  My halls are not extravagant, like Manwë’s, but they are roomy and comfortable.”  He hesitated.  It was his halls and the fëar that drove most away from him.  
  
Gildor saw the fleeting doubt on the other’s face.  “Súrelindë lives in a world of darkness now.  It will matter little to her what your halls look like, but would she be able to walk in the outdoors?  She does love the fresh air and the ocean.”  
  
“She would be able to roam in Lórien’s gardens at will.  And, if she desires the company of the Eldar, I will make arrangement for her to visit those in Valinor,” the Vala added.  
  
This brought Gildor to his last question.  “When will see my iell again?”  
  
Námo looked at Gildor as a father about to give his daughter away.  His heart filled with compassion when he realized that Gildor would not stand in the way of his daughter’s happiness even if it meant never seeing her again.  “I will work something out with Irmo for you to visit in his gardens.  I know it would only be in the dream state for now.”  He paused before adding, “But when you tire of wandering these lands, you will sail West and be able to see her whenever you desire.”  A long silence followed.  Námo dropped to his knees before Gildor.  “I swear, Súrelindë will want for nothing.  I will love her with my whole being for all of eternity.  She will be happy.  She will not lack for company or things to do.  I would love her music to fill my halls.  I think she would be of great value to many of the fëar in my care.  She would oversee my realm as my queen and all would treat her as such.”  Námo’s eyes pleaded with Gildor to bless their union.   
  
It amazed Gildor that the Vala humbled himself so.  Námo could do what he pleased, yet he came to ask permission, to answer a parent’s concerns, to demonstrate his love and devotion.  What more could a father want for his daughter than to have so honorable a suitor?  
  
“It is not my decision to make, but if my iell will have you, then you have my blessings.”  Námo looked up from his knees with a smile of gratitude.  “But understand this,” Gildor continued with all seriousness, leaning closer, “hurt my daughter and Vala or not, I will hunt you down and end your existence.”  Námo did not laugh at this threat, impossible, as it would be to carry out.  Instead, he nodded with understanding.  Gildor Inglorion was a fine elf.  Námo wondered why he never spoke up and accepted his birthright as a prince of the Noldor and Vanya.  
  
Standing, Námo smiled.  “I would like to announce my intentions at the feast tomorrow.  I fear I must soon return to my realm for I have left it in the care of others for too long.  If Súrelindë will accept me, she may have time here to tie up loose ends and when she is ready, Círdan will have a ship for her.  I hope she will not tarry too long, for I will miss her terribly.”  
  
Gildor stood and walked the Vala to the door.  “Good night Hîr nín.  I hope I am right about my daughter’s feelings for you.  I think you are a perfect match.”  
  
“Thank you for accepting me.  I know I am not the most…liked…of the Valar.  But how I must be towards the fëar and who I truly…”  
  
Gildor squeezed Námo’s shoulder.  “Peace, mellon nin.  Rest well.  Súrelindë and I will see you at the feast.”  With that, they parted.  Námo returned to his rooms, dizzy with anticipation while Gildor finished his wine and sought his bed.  His iell had captured the heart of a Vala and he, a mere elf, had threatened him.  
  
*******


	9. A Father's Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gildor has a heart to heart with his daughter. Later, as she prepares for the feast, she finally learns her father's secret.  
> ~~~~~~~~~~~

Súrelindë enjoyed the day with her father. They rode along the seashore on Gildor’s steed, walked in the surf, and talked. Gildor filled his daughter in on his adventures and she in turn filled him in on all the latest castle gossip. They discussed at great length her work with the minstrels and in the house of healing.

 

“Do you really think my music helps the fëar that follow Námo’s call?” she asked rather unexpectedly.

 

“I am sure they feel more at peace with your music. Music touches our fëa. It stands to reason that music touches our inner being regardless of what our physical body is experiencing.”

 

The younger elf tucked her knees up as they sat in the sand. “Would I make a good wife?” Her question came softly. “I mean, I cannot cook and house cleaning takes me forever. I cannot sew, paint, or ride a horse”

 

Gildor put a hand around his daughter’s shoulders and pulled her close. He placed a kiss on the crown of her head. His heart constricted as he watched drops land on her knees. The silent tears tore at his heart. “You will be a fine wife and a wonderful mate. There is more to it than cooking and cleaning. It takes love and compassion. You excel in those. You have a beautiful voice and gifted hands on the harp. Pray tell, penneth, what brought about these questions and doubts?”

 

“Counselor Saelind. He approached me last night and said that he wished to court me.”

 

Gildor felt his stomach flip. She had not agreed had she? Námo would be devastated. He posed his question as calmly as he could. “What did you tell him?” He hoped he sounded nonchalant.

 

Súrelindë sniffed and wiped the tears with the back of her hand. Leaning her head on her adar’s shoulder she replied, “I thanked him but said I could not accept.”

 

Gildor let out the breath he had been holding. So far so good but he needed to find out more. “Why did you turn him down? He is well established, handsome, and honorable…for the most part.”

 

Tears spilled anew. “But Ada, I do not love him. You would not ask me to wed someone I do not love would you? I do not mind being alone, really!”

 

“Hush, pen dithen, I only asked why you said no. I would never want you to marry for anything other than love. Is there perhaps someone else you fancy?”

 

The young minstrel sobbed harder. “He is well above me. He can have anyone; he would not settle for me. Oh, Saelind is right.” She slumped dejectedly against him. 

 

For his part, Gildor wanted nothing more than to assure his daughter that all would be well, that her feelings were returned; but that was something she needed to hear from Námo. “I am proud that you did not give in to Saelind just because he led you to believe he is the only option. Know this, penneth, no one is above another when it comes to love; all are equal. The heart will love whom the heart loves, be it king or Edain or orc…or Vala.”

 

Súrelindë looked up in shock. “How?”

 

Gildor laughed and hugged her tight. “I may not be around much, but I am observant. I see the way you respond to him. I am guessing that your feelings run a bit deeper than mere friendship. Am I right?”

 

“Not that it matter, but yes. However, he is so important and would never need someone like me. What could I possible offer him? How could I possibly be of any help to him? I would be a burden that would keep him from his work! I am nothing but a silly child with dreams of grandeur!” She buried her head in her arms, shoulders shaking. Again Gildor thought to share his knowledge, but thought better of it. “Perhaps I should accept Saelind’s offer. I will never love or want another as I do Lord Námo, but with Saelind, I know that everything will be taken care of for me. You would not need to worry about me and I am sure in time I could learn to have feelings for him. Perhaps even have chi…” A dam of pent up emotions finally broke and Súrelindë let it all loose, her true fears, what she wanted but felt incapable of having due to her lack of sight. 

 

Gildor had had enough. His iell deserved a wonderful life, loving mate and a family! If he had any reservations about Námo as a match for his daughter, they vanished in that moment. “No!” he said firmly. “Do not settle for less than your heart desires just because you think your dream is impossible,” the elf-lord said, holding her chin so they looked eye to eye. “At least not until you are certain that your heart’s dream is beyond reach. Promise me, you will not just give up.” 

 

Súrelindë reached out with her senses, her heart. She felt the love he had for her and something else, some knowledge that he refused to share. 

 

“Keep your options open and follow your heart.” Gildor stood and taking her hand helped her up. “Come. There is a feast in a few hours and we need to get ready. Let us show these Sea elves what we wanderers are made of.” 

 

Súrelindë laughed as Gildor dried her tears with a corner of his tunic. Her heart began to feel lighter. 

*****

Súrelindë took a long bath, enjoying the warm water. She washed with her favorite scent, a combination of sweet and lemon grasses. After drying off, she donned a dressing robe and began to work on her hair. Usually, it was held back in a single braid, but tonight she wanted something different. Tonight she wanted to turn heads. Brushing it into soft waves that cascaded down to nearly her waist, she began to twist pieces from the front along the side, adding hair as she went until she clipped it at the base of her neck, just behind the ear. She did the same to the other side, using jeweled clips Gildor had gifted her. This would keep it away from her face, but still left it long in the back, not her usual style. As she moved to the wardrobe, there came a knock.

 

“Enter.”

 

“Pardon me my lady,” an elleth said. “Your father asked me to come by and offer assistance, should you need it.”

 

“Yes, thank you.” Súrelindë was not so proud as to deny help. “I have a dress in here, somewhere, that is burgundy with cream trim. Would you be so kind as to find it for me? Also, there are shoes to match.” 

 

The elleth found the dress and helped Súrelindë into it. Next were the shoes. They were harder to locate, buried in the back of the wardrobe. The servant then helped pick out earrings and a necklace. Both had been gifts from Gildor to Súrelindë’s mother. 

 

When at last she was ready, Súrelindë stood. “How do I look?” she asked the elleth.

 

“You are beautiful,” the servant replied. 

 

“Thank you and I am sorry, I do not recognize your voice. Have we met?”

 

“No, Mistress, but my family served your grandfather and father’s house for millennia.”

 

“My grandfather?” Súrelindë questioned. Gildor never shared his family history with her and she wondered about his secrecy.

 

The servant chuckled. “Yes, Finarfin.” 

 

Súrelindë sank into a nearby chair. She was the granddaughter of Finarfin…*the* Finarfin? Son of Finwe? 

 

“I see that you did not know.” 

 

Súrelindë shook her head in stunned silence. 

 

“Your father gave me something and asks that you wear it.” The servant held it out for Súrelindë to feel. “He said it was time you wore the emblem of your house.” 

 

Súrelindë’s hands trembled as she took the delicate circlet. Her fingers traced over its delicate scrolls. She could feel gems dangling from small chains. “Would you help me?” she asked in a small voice, holding out the precious item.

 

“Aye, my lady.” The elleth carefully placed it on Súrelindë’s brow, arranging the gems around the side and back. “It is about time you knew the truth and let people around here know it too,” she said with a hint of displeasure. She was well aware of what people thought of Súrelindë and the Wandering Company. It made her very upset. There was a knock on the door. The elleth moved to answer it. 

 

Súrelindë heard her father’s voice in the outer room and rose to join him.

 

“Is she read…” The words died on Gildor’s lips as Súrelindë entered the room. Never had she looked so grown up. He realized that his little iell was gone. In her place was a beautiful, noble woman.

 

“Adar?” Súrelindë asked hesitantly. “Is something amiss?”

 

“No, penneth. It is just that you look so…so different. Every bit the princess you are.” 

 

She blushed at her father’s complement. “Thank you. You never told me.”

 

“I know and it was wrong, but I think it is time to let the cat out of the bag. I want everyone to know that you are so much more than the daughter of the gypsy elf.” He kissed her cheek before taking her arm, and with soft thanks to his servant, led her to the ballroom.

 

*****


	10. A Chance for Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Namo can terry on Arda no longer and takes a chance for eternal love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Súrelindë’s song is actually by Loreena McKennitt called Dark Night of the Soul
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Círdan had arranged for robes, befitting a Vala, to be delivered to Námo’s room. The Vala already expressed his wishes to return to his realm in the very near future, perhaps as soon as the morn. Círdan knew that there was little time to get Námo and Súrelindë together.

Námo looked at himself in the mirror. The outer robe was a blue so dark it was almost black. The under robe was a rich twilight blue with silver trim and accents and a silver sash at the waist. He decided to let his shining black hair flow loose. It fell over his shoulders to the small of his back. As he turned to examine his reflection in the mirror, he caught sight of something on the table. “How did that get here?” he wondered aloud. Moving to the table, he picked up his circlet and set it on his brow. He suspected that his brother had something to do with it. Looking again in the mirror, Námo studied his reflection. It would be clear to all who saw him that he was indeed Námo, Ruler of Mandos, Keeper of Fëar, Doomsman of the Valar. However, the one he wanted to impress the most could not judge him by his looks. Tonight he would approach Súrelindë. The great Vala did not like the feeling of butterflies in his stomach but nothing he did stopped them. Taking a deep breath, he left for the feast.

When Námo entered the hall, there was a collective gasp. Súrelindë did not need to ask who arrived. She tried hard to imagine Námo in his entire splendor. Her heart leapt when she heard his greeting and she could do nothing more than smile shyly and curtsy.

For his part, Námo could not take his eyes off the peredhel. Never could he have anticipated her beauty this night. The minstrel looked radiant, every inch the princess he knew her to be. His heart and spirit sang for her; if she denied him, he would return to his realm at dawn and never seek love again. As they took their seats for supper, Námo was keenly aware of the admiring looks Súrelindë received. It seemed that the ellyn of the city finally realized what they had been missing. Círdan’s counselor, Saelind, was the most obvious in his attentions. He monopolized conversation with her; he reached across the table several times to touch her arm or hand. At one point, Námo wanted to ‘accidently’ drive his fork into the advisor’s hand.

After dinner, servants cleared the tables and pushed them aside. The minstrels moved to the dais and prepared for the night’s entertainment. There would be dancing and singing all night long. Gildor, with the help of Círdan and Námo, convinced his daughter to sing a song. Knowing they would not relent until she complied, Súrelindë moved to the stage and took up the harp. Strumming it lovingly, she began to sing a love song. The hall fell silent as they listened intently. 

 

Upon a darkened night  
the flame of love was burning in my breast  
And by a lantern bright  
I fled my house while all in quiet rest

Shrouded by the night  
And by the secret stair I quickly fled  
The veil concealed my eyes  
while all within lay quiet as the dead

Oh night thou was my guide  
of night more loving than the rising sun  
Oh night that joined the lover  
to the beloved one  
transforming each of them into the other

Upon that misty night  
in secrecy, beyond such mortal sight  
Without a guide or light  
than that which burned so deeply in my heart  
That fire t'was led me on  
and shone more bright than of the midday sun  
To where he waited still  
it was a place where no one else could come

Within my pounding heart  
which kept itself entirely for him  
He fell into his sleep  
beneath the cedars all my love I gave  
From o'er the fortress walls  
the wind would his hair against his brow  
And with its smoothest hand  
caressed my every sense it would allow  
I lost myself to him   
and laid my face upon my lover's breast   
And care and grief grew dim   
as in the morning's mist became the light   
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair.

When she finished, Námo wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. He stood and moved toward the dais. Counselor Saelind, however, moved quicker. He reached Súrelindë first and swiftly maneuvered her to the dance floor as the slow music began. Námo watched with growing jealousy as *his* love was pulled close, too close, to the counselor. Whatever Saelind whispered in the minstrel’s ear caused her to frown. While she maintained composure and drew no attention to them, it was clear to Námo that the woman did not wish to be in the counselor’s arms. Námo moved to the dance floor, ignoring the various ellith who attempted to catch his attention. Couples parted for him. Standing his full height, Námo tapped Counselor Saelind’s shoulder to cut in. The elf looked none too happy, but aside from Námo being a Vala, it would be rude to deny him and many were watching. 

With a kiss to her cheek and the whispered word “Melethron” spoken not so soft that Námo did not hear, Saelind stepped back. “I will speak with your father now, my dear,” he said smiling as he walked toward Gildor. 

Námo could not contain his growl. “I hope I did not intrude on a private moment,” he ground out. Súrelindë visibly relaxed and melted into the Vala’s strong arms. Caught off guard, he instinctively tightened the embrace.

“I am so grateful it is you,” she said resting her forehead on his chest. “He will not leave me in peace. He wishes to court me and I do not want to be courted by him and he is going to talk to my father who hopefully will *not* give him his blessing and… oh I am rambling. Forgive me Hîr nín.”

Námo held her close, the music forgotten. He stroked her hair; it felt like the fine silk Vairë used in her tapestries. His cool fingers brushed her exposed ear, sending a flash of desire through her. Súrelindë felt safe, cherished and she never wanted to leave his powerful embrace. However, as the last strains of music floated out into the night, she moved to step away. This was no more than a dance, embellished in her mind by childish fancies. Námo however had other ideas. Holding her about the waist gently, he leaned in. He could feel her tremble…or was it he who now trembled? Námo’s whispered words tickled her ear. “Walk with me.”

Súrelindë shivered. Did she just feel his lips brush her cheek as he drew back? Feeling lightheaded, she allowed herself to be lead from the hall. The crisp night air exhilarated her. Námo lead her through the gardens until the music and laughter became a low din. The Vala had not relinquished his hold on her waist and she made no move to step away. Stopping he turned her toward him. Looking deep into trusting hazel eyes despite their blindness, Námo spoke from his heart.

“I came to Arda hoping to find my soul-mate. Now that I have found her, I fear I have run out of time to do this properly. Súrelindë, I must return to my realm very soon. Therefore, I cannot court you properly.” He paused here to let his words sink in. Súrelindë’s expression went from confused to uncertain to joyful realization. Before she could speak, Námo continued, “It also is not fair to ask you to accept me and my realm sight unseen. Since it is not in my power to return your sight, the best I can do is ask Irmo to send you a dream in which you could see my realm, see me. I spoke with your father last night and he has given his blessing should you chose to accept me as your mate.”

Súrelindë’s trembling hand slid up the strong chest till she was able to caress his cheek. Her hand felt hot against his cool skin. Námo leaned into the touch. “I do not need a dream to show me anything,” she said softly. “I have seen you here,” she reached up to tap his temple, “and here.” Her hand retraced its path down his cheek and neck to rest upon his beating heart. The Vala covered her delicate hand with his.

“You should be able to see what you choose. My home is not a bright place; it is cloaked in mist and shadow.” 

“I am unable to see no matter who I should marry or what my home would look like. I am blind and have accepted that some things will have to be accepted on ‘blind faith’. No, what would be unfair is to show me in my dreams what I can never see awake,” she said with conviction. “I would gladly bind with you…sight unseen.” She stopped here and cocked her head in contemplation. She continued hesitantly, “But what I cannot understand is why you would settle for me. I am no one, a simple blind half-elf, the daughter of a gypsy. There are so many who could be a proper wife for you; ellith of high standing, with proper manners and beautiful elvin features; ellith who might be of some use. I have nothing to offer. I cannot even claim to be an adequate bed partner!”

Námo brought her knuckles to his lips and bestowed a gentle kiss. “That mîr nín [my treasure] is where you are wrong. You are beautiful beyond words, inside and out. You accept and treat me with the same kindness you show others. Your voice and music moves my inner being and I believe that your music would help those in my care. You are not just some peredhel. If you wish to bring in appropriate birthing, you are an Elven princess of the House of Finrod. And as far as being an adequate bed partner as you put it, I do not doubt that you are quite capable of being more than just adequate.” Súrelindë blushed at his words. “I love you, heart and soul. I need you and if you reject me, I will accept it with a heavy heart yet leave you in peace. However, know that I will yearn for you forever; my soul can never be completed by another.”

Súrelindë so wanted to believe the Vala, so wanted to accept him, but she still feared that in time he would grow tired of her stumbling blindly into everything. Námo read the doubt and fear in her eyes. He understood her reservations and knew only one way to ease them. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Súrelindë was surprised at the softness of his lips. They were cool like the rest of his skin, but the tongue that begged entrance was warm. Not wanting the kiss to end, she opened her mouth, allowing the Vala his first taste. He moaned at the sensation. The slight peredhel snaked her arms up around his neck, pulling his firm body closer to hers, knotting his hair in her fingers. Námo reacted instantly, wrapping both arms around her. When the need for air finally drove them apart, Súrelindë rested her head on his chest. 

“I will bind with you, for my heart and soul belong to you and will accept no other,” she answered softly. Námo hugged her tight when the voice of a female touched his mind.

‘In your pocket.’ The voice was gone as suddenly as it came. Reaching into the pocket of his outer robe, Námo found a pair of beautifully crafted mithril rings with a gold rim. Black diamonds sparkled against the polished metal.

Dropping to one knee, Námo reached for Súrelindë’s hand. “Will you return to the feast and bind with me this night?” he asked. 

By way of answer, Súrelindë dropped to her knees, threw her arms about his neck and kissed him soundly. With a joyful laugh, Námo stood, bringing the slighter body with him, swinging her around. Súrelindë giggled and held tight to his neck. “Come, let us tell your father the news and ask Círdan to perform the bonding ceremony.” 

Wishing to return to the hall as quickly as possible, Námo scooped Súrelindë up and carried her. He set her down on the balcony just outside the hall. Giving her one more kiss filled with promise, he offered her his arm. They found Gildor and shared their news. 

The elf-lord beamed and drew both his daughter and future son-in-law into a warm embrace. “Does this me I can call you ion?” he asked with a cheeky grin. Námo raised an eyebrow in response.

Círdan, seeing what transpired, made his way to the happy group. “Would someone like to share?” he asked, a knowing twinkle in his eye.

“I need your services this night, Master Shipwright. As ruler of these lands, you are authorized to conduct a binding ceremony. I wish to bind with this elleth and she with me, tonight.”

Círdan looked at the couple closely. “Is this true, penneth. Do you wish to be forever bound to Lord Námo?”

“Very much so,” Súrelindë replied confidently.

“So be it.” Círdan approached the dais and the musicians stopped playing. “My dear friends, tonight was to be no more than a welcoming feast for Lord Gildor. Now it gives me great pleasure to announce that a bonding will take place!” 

Cheers arose as everyone began to look around for the lucky couple. None, however, were dressed in wedding garments. 

“Would the blessed couple approach,” Círdan called out. 

The hall went silent as Súrelindë and Námo approached. The crowd moved before the dais. The expressions of those gathered varied. Some appeared genuinely happy, others quite envious, but all were interested in witnessing this rare occasion, a Vala of Valinor binding to a daughter of Arda. 

 

*******


	11. A Wedding to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the Doomsman of the Valar has found his soul-mate and she has accepted his love. All that remains is the binding.

The ancient elf leaned toward the Vala. “Is there anything I should know about Vala bindings?” he whispered.

Námo smirked. “The standard Eldar ceremony will do.”

“Wait!” Súrelindë suddenly said in a hushed voice. Námo felt a moment of panic before his love continued, “I have no ring for you; and you have no witness!”

“The rings, it seems, have been taken care of by my kinswoman.” Námo deposited his ring into the palm of her hands. His beloved closed her fingers around it and said a silent prayer of thanks to the Valar. Just then, a gentle wind blew through the hall. Candles sputtered as the doors to the porch opened. The crowd turned and stood in awe as a willowy being with silver hair, pale ice blue eyes and alabaster skin entered. Círdan bowed low, his people following suite.

“Tôr!” Námo said, leaving his place next to Súrelindë to greet his brother. Turning back, he continued with a rare blinding smile, “It seems my witness is here.” Irmo advanced with his brother, a mischievous smile on his face.

“I was beginning to think you would never get around to asking her!” Irmo turned to Súrelindë who quickly dropped to a low curtsy. The Vala of Dreams pulled her into an embrace. “Welcome to the family, gwathel dithen [little sister].” He kissed her forehead. 

The shocked peredhel blushed as the cool lips left her brow. 

“It is time.” Irmo said to Círdan, and the shipwright began, speaking loud and clear. The Master of Dreams took his place beside his brother as Gildor stood by his daughter.

A loud cheer rang out as Círdan bid Námo kiss his new wife. The Vala obliged, delivering a kiss that made the innocent bride’s toes curl. Descending from the dais, the couple, especially Súrelindë, was swarmed by well-wishers. The blind minstrel felt quite overwhelmed. Suddenly everyone wanted to talk to her, to congratulate her, to inspect her ring. 

Námo stood close. When it was clear that his bride became overwhelmed, he intervened and led his love to the dance floor. With a sigh of contentment, Súrelindë let her husband dance her around the floor.

“You are tired,” Námo stated.

“Just a bit overwhelmed. Everything happened so fast.”

“I am sorry I could not court you properly. When you come to Mandos, things will be different. I will court you then. I am also sorry you did not get to plan your dream binding. I however, wanted your father present and if we waited for me to court you and then planned the ceremony, it would have had to be held in Valinor…without him, for I could not wait till he sailed.”

“I have no regrets. There is no need to court me; I already bound myself to you. As for the quick ceremony, thank you for allowing it to be here. I would have missed my Ada if he had not been able to see this,” Súrelindë said with a smile. “There is nothing I would change. Even one of your kinsmen came.”

“Actually, they all came. Only Irmo choose to reveal himself.” 

Súrelindë’s eyes grew wide and Námo chuckled. His wife’s blush caused him to laugh harder. 

Súrelindë buried her head in his shoulder. “Are they still here?” her voice was muffled by his robes. 

“No, they have returned home.”

“When do we…go home?” It sounded odd to her. She never really thought about going to Valinor.

“I will leave tomorrow as things are beginning that will require my presence. You will come by ship when you are ready.”

Súrelindë protested. “I am ready now and would leave with you come morning. I do not wish to be separated from you.”

I know, melethril, but you cannot come and go as I do. You must come to Valinor first. I will meet you at the dock and take you to my home.”

“Our home,” she corrected with a smile. 

Námo kissed her chastely as the music stopped. “Our home,” he repeated. “Come, it is getting late. You are tired. Let us retire.” 

Súrelindë nodded although her stomach began doing flips. The couple bid good night to friends and family. Námo walked with his arm around his wife’s waist. As they neared a split in the hall he stopped. “I assume you would be more comfortable in your rooms?”

Súrelindë shivered. She had never been intimate with anyone before. “I am not sure, I guess so.” Her voice quivered. Námo tightened his hold, noticing the uncertainty. Yes, her rooms would be best. When they reached the door, he opened it and allowed her to enter first. She moved about with ease; walking with her measured steps, she moved to the center of her sitting room and waited.

Námo removed his outer robe, draping it over a chair. Before he could say anything, Súrelindë began speaking. “Hîr nín, I know not what to do. I have never…”

“Shh,” Námo said softly as he approached her. Taking her hand and kissing it gently, he continued. “There is no need to take so big a step tonight. As you said, everything happened fast. It is not necessary to complete the binding tonight. I would have you comfortable with me first. We can wait until you arrive in Valinor.”

“But the bond must be completed. It is my duty as your wife…”

Námo took a breath before he began, “No. It is not a duty. Making love is something you must desire as much as I. I will never demand it of you. I want to share it with you, but only when you are ready.”

Súrelindë moved her trembling hands to the silver sash at Námo’s waist. “Then I desire to be with you tonight. I want you to teach me how to make love. I want to feel you, know you.” Her hands released the shimmering material and it fell to the floor. She skimmed her fingers over his chest, memorizing each contour, smiling shyly as she ghosted over hardened nipples and Námo shuddered. 

The great Vala felt his passion build. He had to maintain control or he could frighten or hurt his beautiful mate. This was her time to explore him. 

Súrelindë let her hands and intuition be her guide. She touched his chest, arms, neck and regal face. She walked behind him, touching his back, shoulders and hair. She realized for the first time just how much taller than her he was, how much bigger, stronger. The peredhel found she desired to be wrapped safe in his embrace. Delicate fingers combed through the thick mass of inky hair; it was cool, like the rest of him and reminded her of a gentle waterfall. Coming back around him, she snaked her hand around his neck and pulled him down for a loving kiss. Letting something inside guide her, Súrelindë’s tongue licked at Námo’s lips and he opened in invitation. Tentatively, her tongue sought out its counterpart and together they danced, twisting and twining together in a loving embrace. Námo allowed his arms to come around the small waist and roam his wife’s back. Námo wanted her so badly, but reined in his passion; she was in control for now.

Súrelindë’s desire grew and with it her courage. Maintaining the kisses, her nimble fingers worked on the buttons securing the front of Námo’s under robe. Deftly she undid them one by one, exposing the pale neck. Hot kisses followed the line of newly exposed skin. 

Námo sighed with pleasure. Now Súrelindë saw him with hands, lips and…oh, tongue. A moan escaped kiss swollen lips as the hot tongue lapped at the juncture of neck and shoulder. 

The young half-elf smiled, happy that her ministrations brought her husband such pleasure. Having unbuttoned the garment to his waist, Súrelindë pushed the silk from Námo’s shoulders. Her hungry lips, guided by primal instinct, saught a rosy nipple. Námo gasped and threaded his fingers into her silken hair. Lapping and nipping at the bud, Súrelindë busied her hand with the other nipple.

Námo found her touch the most erotic thing he had ever felt. Her touches were gentle and teasing, “seeing’ him more thoroughly than any eye could. He never knew such exquisite pleasure. His member throbbed and leaked with desire. Still, he did not move. He said nothing; letting the moans and sighs she pulled from him be her guide. 

Gracefully, Súrelindë slid to her knees, her lips leaving a burning trail down the rippled abdomen. Námo let out a gasp was warm fingers skimmed over his hips and around to knead his arse. His young wife nuzzled and kissed the sensitive patch at his thigh. It appeared that the minstrel was gifted in more than just music. For one with no experience in intimacy, Súrelindë seemed to know exactly what to do. The Doomsman of the Valar found himself brought low and needy by the ministrations of the peredhel. Strong legs almost gave way when Námo’s ridged member vanished into a moist cavity.

The young peredhel had no practical experience, but her keen ear had heard many a tale from both elleth and ellon about various acts of intimacy. She never thought much about it, squirreling the knowledge away. Now it finally seemed be of use.

“Aye, melethron,” the Vala panted. His body hummed and fire pooled in his stomach; he was close. Súrelindë sensed this and let his member slide from her mouth. Ignoring his mewl of protest, she kissed her way up his body, moving to stand behind him. She pressed her body against his muscled back and reached around him. As she took his member in hand and began to stroke. Námo opened his eyes and found himself face to face with their mirror image. He watched through heavy lids as she stroked him. His pleasure fogged mind briefly wondered if Súrelindë was aware that they faced the mirror.

“Forgive me Hîr nín, I am not sure exactly what you desire, but I will do my best to satisfy you.” His wife whispered, her breath hot on his back. Námo began to thrust, encouraging her to stroke him faster. 

“Aye, bain nin [my beautiful] Súrelindë,” Námo choked out as his body tensed in anticipation, “You have satisfied…oh, aye…yes…more than any oth…” He could speak no more as the most incredible orgasm ripped through him. He dropped his head back, resting it on Súrelindë’s shoulder as he rode out the waves of pleasure and regained his breath.

Súrelindë wrapped her arm more firmly around the powerful chest, supporting as best she could the strong body. “Was I able to please you? I am sorry I am inexperienced…I mean I know…” 

Námo turned in her embrace and kissed her into silence. “You brought me pleasure as I have never felt. I love you and will be content with what ever you are comfortable giving. In all my days, never has anyone brought me to such heights.” He kissed her again, this time with more passion. “I would return the pleasure if you would allow it.” He watched her closely when she replied.

“I would like that,” she answered shyly. Sweeping her up in his arms he moved towards the bedroom. 

*****

Námo wanted this to be the most wonderful, loving night of his new bride’s life. Setting his precious cargo down next to the bed, the majestic being carefully removed the circlet from Súrelindë’s head and set in on the bedside table.

“Would not want anything to happen to that,” he said softy, undoing the clips that held her hair. He combed through the soft curls with his long fingers. “You are so beautiful. I thank Ilúvatar for you.” His breath brushed her cheek and she shivered. Making sure to keep a hand on her at all times, allowing her to know where he was, he moved behind her. He pushed her hair over her shoulder and kissed the nape of her neck.

Súrelindë let her head drop forward to allow better access. She felt his hands at the laces of her gown but the persistent lips on her neck made it hard to focus. 

Námo deftly loosed the laces. He pushed the silk down her arms, exposing her upper body to the cool night air. Her body trembled with anticipation, her arms caught in her sleeves, and the gown caught on the curve of her hips. Continuing to kiss her neck and shoulders, Námo’s hands came up to cup and knead her firm breasts. Pressing back against his chest, Súrelindë sighed as heat began to pool in her core. Cool fingers teased the sensitive nubs to hard peaks. One strong hand left its tender mound to travel south, over the plains of her stomach and under the silk of both her gown and undergarments. Súrelindë moaned and arched back wantonly. Námo continued his assault on her neck and ear, while fondling first one and then the other breast, his other hand seeking hidden treasures. He smiled against the warm skin at the pants and gasps, moans and whimpers that the beauty in his arms made. Skilled fingers caressed the mound between her legs; just teasing the hidden nub that Súrelindë so wanted him to touch.

“So warm and welcoming,” Námo whispered. His questing finger slipped between her folds, gliding along the slick lips, stroking her clitoris. “And so wet.” 

Súrelindë could form no coherent thought as pleasure assailed her untried body. She was vaguely aware of Námo’s rigid shaft pressing against her backside. She gasped and slid her legs apart when she felt the first finger enter her.

“Saes,” Súrelindë begged, though for what she was not sure. “Aye!” she gasped as an incredible pressure built, two fingers now thrusting into her slowly. 

“So wanton, so responsive, so mine.” Námo nipped at her neck, leaving the mark of his desire. 

“Need you…now…oh gods…” Námo smiled at the plea. Loosening the remaining laces, he pushed the gown and undergarment from her body, freeing her arms. Immediately his little bride reached up and fisted her hand in his hair. This caused her body to arch against his. Now they stood skin to skin and Námo’s reawakened member throbbed against her backside. Ignoring his own burning desire, he continued to stroke and fondle her. Súrelindë’s breathing was ragged and moans and cries of pleasure escaped her parched lips. Finally, her body could take no more and she exploded with desire, her core clenching around Námo’s thrusting fingers. She leaned boneless against her lover as she tried to regain control. 

Lifting his heart’s desire, the Vala carefully set her on the bed. Immediately, she reached out for him. Not wishing to startle her, he climbed on the bed and took her hand, kissing the delicate fingertips. She smiled up at him and caressed his face. 

The Vala stretched out next to Súrelindë. He kissed her lips, this time more demanding. Soon the flames of passion were fanned again, and hands and lips began to roam.

“Seas, melethron, I need you,” Súrelindë panted, pulling his strong body over hers.

“You do not…” Námo began.

“I know, but I wish to complete the bond. I need to complete it, saes. Now,” she begged.

Námo could deny her nothing. Rolling onto his writhing beloved, he settled between her legs. Instantly, the young minstrel wrapped her legs around his narrow waist, locking the Vala in place.

“This may hurt a bit,” Námo whispered.

“I know.” Súrelindë may have had little experience, but she heard more talk than most thought. She heard the ladies whisper about their experiences.

“I will go slow and be as gentle as I can.”

“I know.”

Námo positioned his member at her slick opening and pushed in slowly. He stilled when she gasped at the intrusion. “Relax mîr nín; breathe deep. It will get better, I promise.”

“I know,” Súrelindë ground out, willing her body to relax. Námo kissed her gently and when she nodded, he pushed in again, stopping when he was buried to the hilt. Súrelindë sighed, relishing the full feeling. The fire deep inside her however began to build again and demanded release. She pushed up against her husband. 

Námo growled possessively. “Impatient.” 

She responded only by repeating the movement. The Vala chuckled. “Very well.” With slow, deliberate thrusts, Námo made love to his soul mate. Though he desired to take it slow, Súrelindë’s moans and whispered pleas fanned his inner fire. So he was thrusting in earnest, the supple body below him moving in rhythm. Súrelindë tightened her legs as her orgasm built, pulling the velvety shaft deeper. She cried out in ecstasy for a second time that night. Her quivering passage milked Námo’s member dry as he came with her name on his lips.

Námo slid from her warmth and collapsed next to her. He pulled her sated body to him and wrapped his wife in a loving embrace. 

Súrelindë snuggled close, barely able to keep awake. “That was incredible,” she murmured.

“Indeed.” Námo placed a kiss on the crown of her head.

“We are bound. I felt it…in my fëa.”

“We are. Now you will never be alone, no matter how far apart we may be. I will sense you, also. It will sustain me until you come to Mandos.”

“Must you leave come morning?” 

Námo tightened his strong arms about her. “Yes, I must return to my duties. Know this, though: not a moment will pass that you will not be in my thoughts.”

Súrelindë smiled against his cool chest. “I will not tarry. There is little to keep me here and I will sail as soon as Círdan can arrange a ship.” A yawn escaped her sated body. She felt a silent chuckle rumble in Námo’s chest.

“Rest now, meleth. I will be here when you wake.”

“Blanket.” Súrelindë muttered as she burrowed deeper into his strong arms. With little effort, Námo managed to get them under the soft bedding. The newly bonded couple held each other through the night as each found the most pleasant rest they ever had.


	12. To the White Shores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the story ends...

The next morning came too soon for Súrelindë’s taste. She sat on the bed and listened to him move about the room, preparing for departure. She could sense his power and the young peredhel marveled that so magnificent a creature chose to bind with her. Gildor and Círdan joined the couple for breakfast and now they all stood in the courtyard bidding the Vala good bye.

“I will see that a ship is ready soon, Hîr nín,” Círdan said, clasping Námo’s arm. “She will be in your arms again before you know it.”

“Your kindness will not be forgotten, Master Shipwright.” The Vala bowed to the ancient mariner. “Ulmo will know when she sails and will see the ship safely to the White Shores.”

Círdan stepped aside to allow Gildor a moment with the Doomsman. “I trust her to you,” the elf-lord whispered.

“You have no need for concern. I love your iell with my entire being. She will know happiness and want for nothing. I swear it.” 

Gildor smiled warmly. “I am still stunned that she is bound…and to a Vala. I will miss her but I know I will see her again. Namárië.” With a final bow, the gypsy elf moved off to the side, speaking with Círdan. He wanted to give his iell some privacy with her new mate, but wanted to remain close…just in case.

Súrelindë moved into her husband’s arms. “I will miss you.”

“And I you, but it will not be long before we are reunited.”

Gentle hands came up to caress and finger Námo’s face. “I wish to have one last look at you,” the minstrel said with a sly grin. 

Námo bent down and captured her lips. The chaste goodbye quickly became more as the two pressed closer. 

Námo hugged his little wife tight. “I love you,” he whispered and pulled back. With a last kiss to her brow, the Vala of Death walked towards the gate. In a swirl of mist, his form vanished. 

Gildor placed a reassuring hand on Súrelindë’s shoulder. “He is gone, penneth,” he said softly.

“I know,” came the whispered reply.

“Are you alright?” Gildor asked his child. 

She turned to him and smiled. “More than alright…I am in love.” With that, she moved past her father and Círdan with measured steps. She had some things to get together before she left the shores of Arda forever. 

Making her way back to her room, she pulled a trunk over to her wardrobe and began to drop things into it. Uncertain of what would be needed, Súrelindë ran her fingers lightly over the hanging garments. She smiled as her fingers brushed the silk of her binding gown. She blushed as she remembered the one night spent in passion with her husband…her husband! She giggled. She carefully removed the garment and folded it; it definitely goes. She then felt the heavy brocade of her Solstice dress. It had been a gift from her father. It was an Edain style and showed Súrelindë’s curves nicely…yes, that one, too. As she felt through her wardrobe, the peredhel whished she had a few more ‘proper’ gowns; she did not want to embarrass Námo by showing up looking like a street urchin. She sighed. Perhaps she could acquire a new dress or two in Valinor. She wondered what it would be like, being a Vala’s wife. Súrelindë hoped it entailed more than sitting around, stitching (she had a bit of trouble with that). Námo had implied that she would have a purpose; the thought made her happy. Of course, it would take some time to learn her new surroundings, count off steps, memorize furniture placement. Her heart fluttered. She could not wait to explore her new home. A few hours later found her clothes and personal belongings packed in two trunks. If it had no sentimental value, she decided to leave it. She would pack her harp later; there might be a need for it before she left. Anyways, she would carry with her, as it was too precious to her. 

****** 

Within one week, Súrelindë found herself on the dock, saying her goodbyes. There were only about fifteen who would be traveling West with her; most of those had been injured beyond the healing ability of Arda, although the elleth who had come to get her ready for the feast was also present. She had volunteered to accompany the peredhel and serve Súrelindë as she had Gildor. Those awaiting to sail were overjoyed to have their beloved minstrel joining them, for those suffering most greatly would now have moments of peace…if she would play for them. Many of those remaining in Arda, however, were sorry to see her and her music pass into the West. Lady Mindoniel was especially sad to see Súrelindë leave. Her little one was quite fond of her playing. Often, it was the only way to quiet the little elfling. However, Mindoniel was happy for the youngling, she deserved happiness.

“Do you have everything?” Gildor asked for the tenth time.

“Yes, Ada.”

“Is there anything you can think of that you might have forgotten?”

“No, Ada.”

“How about your…”

Súrelindë reached out her hands to her father; Gildor took them in his own. “Relax, Ada. I have what I need and if not, I am sure I can acquire it in Valinor. The only thing I really need is to be with Námo.”

“Aye, penneth, I am so happy for you. It saddens my heart that you will leave me, but we will meet again. Know that I love you beyond measure and I will think of you often. I am sorry I was not the father you should have had.”

“Stop. You are the best Ada for which I could have hope. I will miss you too and will await you on the White Shores.” She hugged her father, then added, “And I had best *not* meet you in Námo’s halls, do you hear me? You be careful!” she chided.

Gildor chuckled. “Yes, Mistress. Who am I to disobey the wife of Námo!” He squeezed her tight and set her free. “Hurry, or you will miss the tide and be delayed.”

Súrelindë made quick goodbyes to Círdan and a few friends who had come to see her off. She then took the arm of her companion. The elleth carefully guided her up the gangplank. She stood on the deck, near the bow. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the salt air and sighed. “I am coming, beloved,” she whispered to the wind.

“I know,” came the soft reply in her mind.

******  
The End…

**Author's Note:**

> Feed the Muses! Comments and discussion welcome.


End file.
